


All that Glitters is not Gold

by the_transfeminine_mystique



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Pre-Fall of Overwatch, Trans Female Character, but i'm tagging it anyways, don't be shitty about it lmao, the character death is a canonical 'death'
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-07
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-06-06 17:49:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 26,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15200165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_transfeminine_mystique/pseuds/the_transfeminine_mystique
Summary: Moira slowly realizes that Angela Ziegler does not make sense.





	1. Chapter 1

Moira O’Deorain had been working for Overwatch two months now, and the distinct feeling that she was an outsider had not even begun to go away. She had learned the somewhat-less-than-intuitive way to her laboratory by heart — out her dorm door, three lefts, one right, another left, room at the end of the hall — and had taken to making the trek earlier and earlier each morning, in hopes of finding the halls as empty as possible. She didn’t want to see them any more than they evidently wanted to see her.

It wasn’t that they were _rude_ to her, exactly. When she had been brought aboard her first day had been swamped with welcomes from other medical research division employees, each with the same superficial smile on their face that Moira recognized from countless meetings at universities and conferences. Hell, she wasn’t immune from adopting one herself on occasion. She hadn’t expected anything other from her first day working at a new place.

But they hadn’t gone away. And every person she passed in the hallway, with their fake smile and their bland “good morning, Dr. O’Deorain,” served as a reminder that she was no closer to breaking through that social barrier than she had been on her first day.

She knew why.

Her career had not been without controversy. After publishing a paper that she had expected to be praised as a groundbreaking development in genetic modification, she found herself under censure from the European Society of Human Genetics for ethical shortcomings. Shortly afterward she was inexplicably denied tenure at the University of Dublin and found prior offers from two other prestigious universities quietly withdrawn. That was a couple of decades ago now. She hadn’t been expecting to be welcomed into Overwatch with open arms, but she had admittedly expected to at least get past the standoffishness of her coworkers after about a month. She could tolerate being disliked, or even hated, but could not stand the inescapable web of superficial niceties in which she found herself.

This morning, however, Moira opened her lab door to find somebody sitting in her chair, their back to the door, flipping lazily through her notes. Her mind raced. What project had she been working on last night? What was in those notes? What could this person possibly—

“That you, O’Deorain?” the figure asked, without turning around. “I was told you come in to the lab early, and I hoped to catch you before you got _too_ absorbed in your work for social interaction.” With a wry note, the voice added, “Richardson also told me that you get, let’s say, _irritable_ if somebody interrupts your research.”

Moira blushed slightly, remembering her interaction with Dr. Richardson the previous week with slight embarrassment. She didn’t particularly care for making workplace friends, but she also knew that she couldn’t afford to make many more bad impressions on employers, and physically pushing a coworker out of her lab — particularly a coworker who had only asked if she had a spare clean graduated cylinder — was a good way to make a bad impression. Wrenching her attention back to the woman in her chair, Moira cleared her throat and offered the only name that made sense, given the circumstances.

“Dr. Ziegler?”

The chair turned to face her, and Moira was greeted by the woman she had seen on countless Overwatch promotional items and in the news: Angela Ziegler, the head of Overwatch’s medical research division, the renowned “Mercy.” Dr. Ziegler would have ordinarily participated in her employment interview, or so Moira was told, but her work had taken her away from Switzerland for several months. She had gotten the distinct feeling during the interview that Ziegler’s absence was in her best interest, judging from a few side comments by Commander Reyes and some choice glares from Captain Amari, serving as Dr. Ziegler’s substitute in the hiring process. Her suspicions found themselves confirmed during her onboarding, by Commander Reyes. Needless to say, Moira was not looking forward to meeting her supervisor.

“You… you got back from Gibraltar early,” Moira weakly offered.

“Reyes didn’t tell you?” Dr. Ziegler asked, in a way Moira was to learn was not intended to be answered. She opened her mouth to respond, but promptly shut it again when her supervisor continued speaking without more than a second’s pause. She pursed her lips. “I guess he wouldn’t have. He has enough on his mind right now without looking after new hires.”

Moira’s temper flared at being treated as if she had been brought aboard yesterday, but thought better of saying anything. If her supervisor noticed her slight blush or the flames in her eyes, she gave no indication. Moira had told herself that she would make an effort to be agreeable with Dr. Ziegler, but she had expected another two weeks to brace herself before their meeting. To be suddenly confronted with her supervisor, for the first time, _at 6:17 in the morning_ , was throwing her off.

Dr. Ziegler continued, fixing Moira with a somewhat uncomfortable stare, “Dr. O’Deorain, you are an employee of Overwatch, and you are an employee of mine. Yes?”

Moira blinked. Of all the places she expected her first conversation with Dr. Ziegler to start, this was certainly not one of them. “That is correct.”

Dr. Ziegler’s tone was pointed. “And as long as you remain these, you will be expected to conform to standards of professional behavior.”

“Yes, I—”

“ _Ethical_ behavior.”

“—understand,” Moira finished coldly. So this was about her prior work. Commander Reyes had told her about Angela pulling him aside months ago, telling him about how he was _under no circumstances_ to hire _that woman._ He seemed to think the whole matter was hilarious, telling Moira that, between the two of them, it was that conversation more than anything else that convinced him to hire her. Moira could tell that he respected Dr. Ziegler’s work, but that he chafed at her cautious approaches to research. Maybe he thought that Dr. Ziegler’s absence would give him a chance to shake things up and hire Moira. Now, however, with Ziegler standing directly in front of her, Moira wasn’t so sure whether she should have been so willing to be put in this position. She didn’t want conflict, she wanted to do her work in peace. She had thought that Overwatch would allow her to do that, but now she wasn’t so sure.

“You’ve gone through the general Overwatch orientation,” Dr. Ziegler continued, “but you have not yet been introduced to our laboratory procedures and guidelines to my satisfaction.”

Moira held back a groan, sensing that she was about to endure a morning of rehearsing various tenets of medical ethics until her supervisor was satisfied the new doctor would not be a threat to the reputation of her lab.

Moira wondered whether Dr. Ziegler was too naïve to realize that this exercise would just make her _more_ intent on ignoring medical ethics out of spite.

 

•

 

Moira stared up at her ceiling, waiting for sleep that she knew would come far later than she wanted. It was half past one in the morning, and she had worked herself to the point of exhaustion in the lab, leaving only after she dropped her second beaker about half an hour before. She had expected to be asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow, but sleep was proving to be elusive. She couldn’t get Angela off her mind. Since their first encounter three weeks before, Moira had seen more of Angela than she had cared to. Much more. Dr. Ziegler had insisted on working closely together for a few projects in order to more closely supervise Moira’s methods.

There were occasional moments of peace and — if it could be believed — friendliness. On their third day working together, Dr. Ziegler had suggested that they stop for a coffee break. Moira wasn’t the type to take breaks, but she had thought it better to agree. Her one prior excursion to the medical research wing breakroom had been little better than tragic, with everybody immediately stopping all of their conversations and staring at her. She half expected Dr. Ziegler to do the same, to sit in silence or to take the break as an opportunity to talk to somebody besides Moira. What she didn’t expect was for her supervisor to pull a tin of expensive looking coffee from its hiding place in the back of a cabinet, wink at her, and put on a fresh pot. She certainly didn’t expect the tired but genuine smile Dr. Ziegler gave her, and her insistence that Moira was to call her Angela. When Angela had poured them both cups of her personal stash, Moira was beginning to wonder if she was sitting across from the same woman she had been working with in the lab.

But they had returned to the lab, and Moira got the distinct feeling that Angela had gone back to seeing her as a threat to Overwatch and her lab. Angela was just as insistent that Moira defend the ethics of the tiniest piece of her research procedure, and Moira was feeling just as stifled and incensed.

But there was something off. Moira couldn’t quite place it, but there was something, and tonight it was keeping her awake.

Nobody could possibly be this single-mindedly focused on ethics, could they? Angela did brilliant work, she couldn’t deny that. Could that work be done by the Angela Ziegler that was working alongside her? The Angela Ziegler that seemed to never slip out of the Mercy persona that the public knew and loved?

When Moira finally fell asleep, her dreams were not restful.

 

•

 

It was night in the lab, and Moira was impatient to prove herself in her first real independent project. Angela had finally stopped breathing down her neck, evidently satisfied that the infamous Dr. O’Deorain would _not_ , in fact, destroy Overwatch the minute she was left unsupervised.

Moira was glad for the time alone. She did her best work by herself, and she hoped to prove that. Over the past weeks she and Angela had performed upgrades and optimization for Mercy’s famous Caduceus Staff, so Moira had time to fully grasp the healing technology which Overwatch utilized. And now she was going to make it better.

She had planned and finalized a design for a healing beam that was both stronger and broader than that which the Caduceus could emit, and had designed a medic’s uniform that integrated the necessary mechanisms, rendering the staff itself superfluous. This consolidation was originally her only goal, but she had quickly realized that the healing nanites were strengthened by proximity to biotic material. By removing the staff and its insulated containment of the nanites, she could revolutionize Overwatch’s medical capability. Her new method might be able to provide twice the healing as the Caduceus!

There was only one way to test it. She would try it out here in the lab, alone, so if there were any issues she could fix them without anybody else seeing her failure. She arranged the healing apparatus on her arm, and walked over to a cage in the corner of her lab. She had found a rabbit with a broken leg on the edge of the outside sitting area where medical research employees went to smoke, and had taken it inside with her. She didn’t enjoy hurting animals, and so she had been glad to not have to injure one herself. She had (with some difficulty) put its leg in a splint, but had not healed the bone yet. That would be the test of her new beam.

Moira took a deep breath, removed the rabbit’s leg splint, and activated the beam. Instantly, a splitting pain shot up her arm and her knees buckled. Something had gone wrong.

A few seconds later, she came to, sprawled across the floor. The pain was scarcely lessened, but seemed to be restricted to her right arm and hand, the one which the mechanism had been attached to. Pushing through the pain, her mind flew immediately to her work. Had it succeeded? Pulling herself with some difficulty up to a sitting position with her left hand, she saw the rabbit. It was agitated from the commotion, and was hopping frantically about the enclosure. Moira grimaced. At least one of them was ok.

She looked down at her right hand, and stifled the shocked yell that threatened to rip from her throat. Her hand and wrist had taken on a purple color, and had visibly withered. She pulled up the sleeve of her lab coat, and saw that the same withered discoloration spread up almost to her elbow. Something had gone wrong. She had missed something.

Moira pulled herself to her feet. Her mind, still reeling from the pain, was finding it difficult to go through all of the possible errors that might have occurred. That would have to be a project for tomorrow. She needed to go to her dorm. She could bring her notes with her there.

She knew that the halls would likely be empty, but she grabbed a lab glove to cover her hand anyway. Having a conversation with one of her coworkers in the hall about what happened was the last thing she wanted tonight.

Moira finally arrived at her dorm without incident, but now another problem was presenting itself. The pain was getting sharper, and beginning to spread. She had to do something to the arm, she had to treat it somehow, but how could she do that without knowing what had even happened to it? She couldn’t do it, and the pain kept increasing. Her ego was monumental, but her self-preservation instinct was stronger. She pulled out her communicator, her head starting to swim.

 

 **modeor:** _angela are you in the lab area_

 **modeor:** _medical emergency in my dorm_

 **modeor:** _please dont use medical override code my pass is 4468373_

 

It was barely a minute before the reply came,

 

 **aziegl:** _I’m on my way._

 **aziegl:** _What kind of emergency?_

 

It took all of Moira’s willpower to answer before slipping into unconsciousness again.

 

 **modeor:** _dont know_

 **modeor:** _something went wrong_

 

•

 

Moira opened her eyes to find Angela sitting on the side of her bed. Her confusion quickly melted into a foggy sense of relief. “I’m not dead, and I can feel my arm” was the thought that played on repeat in her mind. But Angela was here. The relief started to give way to fear, and the weak smile on Moira’s face found itself replaced with a look of anxiety. Angela evidently still hadn’t realized that she was awake. Moira braced herself for that realization. She knew that Angela’s first words would be reproving, soaked in sharp disapproval. She had, after all, conducted an experimental test without taking any of the precautions that she knew she should. She had just been so certain that nothing would go wrong…

“Well? How are you feeling?” came a voice from beside her, a voice that, surprisingly, carried none of the edge that Moira had expected. “You gave me a terrible fright last night, you know. I don’t think I’ve moved that fast off the field in years.” Angela turned towards her patient, putting her hand gently on Moira’s uninjured arm.

“Thank you,” Moira replied softly, her voice hoarse. She didn’t know what else to say. She hadn’t been prepared for _gentleness_ of all things, nor for Angela, Overwatch’s famous Mercy, to stay and help her one minute longer than absolutely necessary. She was most certainly not expecting to feel Angela’s lightly callused hand clasping her forearm like this. She wanted this moment to never go away.

Tearing herself away from these thoughts, Moira managed to croak out “how’s my arm?” She half expected to see Angela’s face and eyes — those deep blue eyes — grow sharper with the reminder of Moira’s accident. They didn’t.

“I stabilized the cellular deterioration, and restored function. There is scarring and discoloration, and it’s possible that there will be some loss of sensation, I don’t know. But your arm and hand are stable, and all internal damage is healing. I wouldn’t have known where to start if you hadn’t brought your notes back with you. Your messages to me were…” she paused to chuckle, and, despite her current state, Moira found herself wanting to hear Angela’s laugh again, “somewhat less than helpful. I didn’t even know what to bring here with me.”

Moira glanced away. She didn’t remember what she had sent, and was slightly ashamed of not having been of more help. As if sensing her thoughts, Angela gripped her arm tighter and placed her other hand on Moira’s cheek, drawing her patient’s gaze back to herself.

“You didn’t do anything wrong. Thank you for sending for me. Your notes were a better description of what happened than doctors ever get from patients.”

Her notes. This was the second time Angela had mentioned them. Angela had read her notes. Fuck.

Truth be told, she hadn’t been terribly careful to avoid anything in her methods that Angela would find improper. After everything was successfully done, she had been planning to create a copy of them that would be perfectly in line with lab procedures and retain her originals for her personal use. It was easier that way. But now Angela had read her real notes, and as Moira was getting more and more of her wits back, she could remember no fewer than five — make that six — places in her notes she had distinctly known while writing that she would have to edit out before letting Angela see them. In one place, she even remembered having written “If Angela sees this, you’re really fucked, O’Deorain” as a joking reminder to take it out later. And now Angela had. Her thoughts all rushed forward at the same time.

It was like that stupid musical from the 20th? 21st? century that her brother loved for some reason when he was about 12 or 13, about show business and tax evasion. She had thought of one particular scene as she was making that note — two ledger books, one labeled “show to the IRS” and the other “never show to the IRS” — and the thought had made her chuckle. But the IRS had found the real ledger, and now Angela Ziegler had found her real notes.

“I’m so sorry Angela, I know I shouldn’t have—” Angela cut her off by placing a finger over Moira’s lips.

“Right now isn’t the time for apologies. I’m just glad you’re ok.” Angela sighed, and Moira could see for the first time how tired she was. She wondered if Angela had slept at all the entire night. “I know you’re not going to stop working late nights in the lab. Just… please let me know beforehand and I’ll be there. Not to supervise, but to help troubleshoot and make sure nothing goes wrong.”

Moira couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Was Angela really not going to chastise her? Angela Ziegler??? She nodded, unable to form coherent thoughts or words.

Angela continued, and there was a note of regret in her voice. “If I had been there last night, for instance, I might have been able to tell you that nanites don’t become more effective just by proximity to biotic material at the administering end like you hypothesized; they gain effectiveness by degrading and using that material. You were so focused on the receiving end that you didn’t question _why_ the increase effect was taking place.”

Moira wasn’t used to hearing this type of feedback in this gentle of a voice, especially not from her supervisor. Why was Angela saying this? Why wasn’t she ripping into Moira’s methods? And why was Angela touching her this much? Not that she minded at all, of course. Moira just wondered how long this dynamic between them would last. But suddenly Angela was standing up, and Moira immediately missed the warmth of her hand on her cheek. Her hand caught the hand which Angela had been resting on her arm as it threatened to pull away. She wanted to feel Angela’s warmth for as long as she could, and risked Angela pulling away in surprise. Angela blinked and faltered for a second, but a tired smile spread across her face, and she clasped Moira’s unhurt hand with both of her own.

“I need to sleep now, Moira. It’s been a long night. And you should sleep too.” Moira nodded, and Angela gave her one last smile and squeeze of her hand before letting go and walking toward the door.

“Oh, one more thing.”

Moira wondered what it could possibly be. Was she finally going to get the scolding she had expected?

“I told my assistant that neither of us will be in today because I spent the night removing glass shards from your body after a lab accident. It would be good if that was your story as well.”

Moira blinked. Was Angela _covering for her?_ Moira felt her eyes drilling into her, but not in a threatening way. It felt almost like concern.

“Moira, be careful.”

The door shut behind her, and Moira was left to wonder exactly what it was that Angela wanted her to be careful of.


	2. Chapter 2

Despite still being withered and a bluish-purple, Moira’s right hand regained its functionality within the fortnight. That was more than could be said for her healing beam design, unfortunately. She hadn’t exactly  _ abandoned _ it, in fact she was more driven than ever to prove to Angela that the project wasn’t a dead end. But whether or not she would admit it, she was realizing more and more that it might actually be one. After revisiting the Caduceus staff design with a keener eye to the need for its insulation, she had found that it was already perfectly engineered for efficiency — no more insulation than necessary, and optimized for the maximum amount of healing while maintaining the user’s safety.

She was relieved when Commander Reyes asked her to his office, vaguely mentioning something about a project that higher-ups were interested in. She had an excuse to put the project on pause for a bit, at least.

When she arrived, Gabe wordlessly poured both of them a glass of whiskey, sank back into his chair, and fixed her with a stare that told her he was about to tell her something he found incredibly exciting.

“You do stuff with genetics, right?” he drawled, obviously pleased with himself.

It took all of Moira’s composure to not laugh at the understatement. “I’ve heard of it,” she deadpanned.

“I had a hunch you might have,” he went on, in the same tone. Moira tried to think through what he could possibly be building up to, but came up blank. “If Overwatch were interested in, say, genetically optimizing soldiers, would you know anybody who might be interested in heading up the project?”

Moira’s head spun. Was Gabe really asking her this? How did this proposal even get past the higher-ups? She could see Jack Morrison being convinced of its merits, and while it probably wasn’t exactly Ana Amari’s cup of tea, Moira could see her coming around. Gabe, of course, was probably the one who proposed the whole thing. But how the hell did the proposal get past Angela? As if sensing her mental path Gabe’s voice cut across her thoughts.

“It wasn’t easy, you know. Getting Ziegler on board and all that.” Gabe chuckled. “But I managed. And besides, it was more of a command decision. I just had to convince Jack to give the go-ahead for the initial exploration phase. Ziegler’s probably gonna be a pain in my fuckin’ ass throughout the process, but as long as we don’t do anything to alienate Jack she can’t shut it down.”

Moira felt herself tense up at the way Gabe said Angela’s name. She didn’t know why, really. He wasn’t wrong, after all, that Angela would be absolutely insufferable about a project like this. Knowing her, she would almost certainly insist on lab procedures that would slow the project down and make it take twice as long as it otherwise would. But something within Moira still resented Gabe’s dismissal of Angela as simply a burden.

Moira shook off those thoughts. She had just been offered an opportunity she hadn’t in a million years expected to present itself at a place like Overwatch, and she was determined to take full advantage of it. “What do I do first? Pull together a team and take over one of the vacant labs?”

Gabe’s grin returned, and Moira got the distinct feeling she wasn’t going to like what he was about to say.

“Ziegler put one or two conditions on the project, otherwise she would have fought this thing all the way up to the damn UN Security Council. One of them is that the research is as public and transparent as possible.” He rolled his eyes, and Moira could imagine just how much it must have pained a covert-ops specialist to agree to that condition. “The other is that you’re not working alone in calling all the shots.”

“That still hasn’t answered my question. What’s my first move?”

Gabe finished off his whiskey. “You present your methodology, framework, and initial findings at the European Society of Human Genetics conference in November. Think you can handle that?”

Moira looked quizzically at him. “They expelled me, remember? I’m sure I explained that in my interview. They don’t let non-members register or present.”

Gabe’s grin seemed to be getting bigger by the second, and Moira didn’t like that.

“They might not let you present alone, but they’ll let a damn  _ cat  _ be a co-presenter alongside a member in good standing.”

Gabe’s voice was practically dripping with what could only be described as schadenfreude, and Moira was liking it less and less.

“And Angela Ziegler is  _ always _ in the  _ best _ of standing with professional organizations.”

Fuck.

Angela’s condition for the project going forward was that if Moira were going to be at the helm, Angela would be looking over her shoulder all the way.

Fuck.

  
•

 

In the three months that followed, Angela had proven to be just as much of a drag on Moira’s schedule as she had anticipated, but Moira had grown to not mind it. She enjoyed being on Angela’s good side, and Moira was suddenly in the unexpected position of being able to be there regularly. Angela made it no secret that she disliked the program, but that was an issue between her and Overwatch command. As long as Moira followed Angela’s lab procedures and resisted the temptation to do anything  _ too _ out-of-the-box, she was finding it easy to work with the doctor, and — more surprisingly — Angela seemed to like working with her.

Angela never brought up  _ that night _ , and Moira wasn’t inclined to do so either. No sense in possibly opening up a can of worms like  _ that  _ while they were working so closely together.

In preparing for their conference presentation, Moira realized that she had never fully grasped Angela’s skill at selling things to the public, particularly things that, coming from anybody else’s mouth, would be viewed as suspect. She had left the description of specific genetic methods in Moira’s capable hands, and focused her part of the presentation on explaining the project’s uses and applications, and how it would enable “Overwatch’s brave heroes” to save even more people.

Moira found herself having to remind herself that Angela wasn’t actually in support of the project, she was simply doing her job and presenting an Overwatch initiative to the public. She couldn’t, after all, make it appear that there was a rift between Overwatch leadership and the medical research division.

And now, as the conference attendees’ applause died down at the end of their Q&A session, Moira realized that she was thankful that she hadn’t been tasked to serve as the public face of the genetic enhancement project. She loved the work she did, but she didn’t have Angela’s knack for people. Maybe if she did she wouldn’t have been kicked out of the Society in the first place. Maybe she would be back at Dublin instead of at Overwatch.

She felt a hand on her arm, bringing her out of her thoughts and back into reality. Looking to her left, the direction of the hand, she saw Angela’s smile — god how she loved that smile — and realized that she was congratulating her on her portion of the presentation. The smile that Moira gave in return was much more tired but no less sincere. It had gone well, and Moira felt like less of a scientific outcast than she had in years.

They had been scheduled to present on the first day of the conference, and Moira realized (after escaping the crowd and making a beeline for her room) that she would have the next few days free. Nothing on the schedule seemed terribly interesting to her, and her estrangement from the rest of the field meant that she didn’t have to attend panels she had no interest in out of professional courtesy. Despite Angela’s insistence that she bring a suit, she certainly didn’t intend to go to the welcome gala that night. Besides, Ana Amari had insisted on coming along with them as a sort of informal bodyguard, and Angela would certainly prefer Amari’s company to hers. Moira heaved a sigh of relief. She had the next few days to herself, it seemed.

The first thing Moira did when she got to her room was to look at the clock. 16:35. Still early, but not early enough to keep her from doing the second thing: fishing a bottle of Irish whiskey out of her bag. She was ready to relax, and the way she relaxed best was musing over old, unfinished projects while in a state somewhere between buzzed and tipsy.

She ditched her coat on her room’s dresser and thought through the files she had brought with her, but none of them seemed to hold her attention. Her mind instead turned to the paper that had made her infamous in the field, the paper that had caused her expulsion from European Society of Human Genetics and the ruin of her academic career.

“Well if I’m going to revisit you, now’s the time to do it,” she mused to herself, a note of irony in her voice. “What are they going to do, kick me out of my hotel room? Make me figure out a way to un-give my presentation?”

The whiskey was good. So good. She had refilled her glass twice, and was now halfway through the infamous paper. For so long, she had been unable to think about it without reliving the conflict and pain that had followed its publication. But now, rereading it, she was remembering the excitement that had coursed through her veins as she was putting it together. She remembered the cadence of her writing (she always thought most scientific writing was just flat out bad, and she insisted on making hers pleasant to read), and the way that she had absolutely come alive researching it. It was, at its core, the work that she wanted to do. Work that she would probably never be able to do again in any professional capacity, she remembered with a pang of sadness.

She was on her fourth glass now.

How could they have not seen the genius of her work? She had proposed a method by which genes, under the right laboratory conditions, could be practically rewritten with a keyboard. If expanded, it could mean the elimination of countless diseases and conditions!

But the Society couldn’t see that. All they could see was an existential threat to the world, “the specter of meaninglessness,” as one critic described it. She couldn’t help but laugh at the memory of another’s denunciation, something like “O’Deorain’s proposal would destabilize reality as we know it. Is that what we want? For physical reality to be as shifting and meaningless as if it had been written by a  _ postmodernist _ ?” Was that how he phrased it? She should look it up.

It was Dr. Jakobs from Johns Hopkins who had written that one, and from there she found Dr. Okaru’s rebuttal of her work, and  _ god _ there was the Drs. Hanson, Acevedo, and Blake piece that hadn’t even  _ tried _ to understand her findings before presuming to tear them apart. Andrew Blake had even gotten  _ tenure _ in no small part because of his eagerness to refute Moira’s work. She shook her head. What had Oxford come to, granting tenure to a man like  _ Blake? _

After making her way through the first paragraph of an almost-unreadable attempt at a refutation by a professor she had never heard of from a university she had never heard of, Moira decided that the quality of the list, sorted as it was by the number of citations, had pretty much run out. She started aimlessly scrolling, letting the titles fly past her. “God there were a lot of them,” she laughed to herself. 

She was on her sixth glass, and even though she was competent at holding her liquor, she was feeling more than a little tipsy when a lock icon caught her eye.

The icon was accompanying a title that she hadn’t remembered seeing before. Had this piece really cited her article? Perhaps it had been written after she stopped regularly checking her citations. It was the lock icon, not the piece’s unfamiliarity, that piqued her interest. The academic world had operated along open-access lines for decades, and so to find a piece that wasn’t available to view was unusual. The author would have had to specifically request for access to be closed. Why? Moira turned her attention to the title itself, hoping to maybe find an answer.

 

_ “To Restore a Life: Applications of the O’Deorain Genetic Method to Trauma 1 Patients.” A Thesis Submitted in Partial Fulfillment of the Requirements of the Degree of Masters in Science at the University of Zurich. _

 

Moira’s whiskey sat forgotten beside her laptop, as she read the words over and over again. Somebody had taken her work seriously, and saw it as something other than a threat to the discipline. Not only that, but somebody had apparently found a clinical application for something that she had only managed to do only in controlled environments. This was incredible. Who was that brilliant as a  _ masters _ student? The name. She needed to know the author’s name.

It had been redacted here on the database, but if Moira knew anything about the world of academia, it was that scientists and science departments were awful at managing their online presence. She was going to find out who wrote that thesis, even if it killed her. She decided to start with the University of Zurich’s website.

As it turned out, she didn’t have too much of a search. It was a page that had been removed from the sitemap and which couldn’t be reached by following links, but which hadn’t  _ actually _ been deleted. She had found it on a hunch, guessing at the url for the late Professor Heide Schönberg’s old faculty bio. If anybody at Zurich had advised that thesis, Moira reasoned, it would have been Schönberg. And sure enough, the page had a section of recent projects by advisees. Moira had almost forgotten to breathe by this point. She scrolled down, scouring the page until she saw the familiar words:

 

_ “To Restore a Life: Applications of the O’Deorain Genetic Method to Trauma 1 Patients.”  _

 

  * __M.Sc. Thesis — A. Ziegler.__



 

 

Moira stared at the screen in stunned silence for what felt like months. Her mind couldn’t seem to process the information in front of it. As if on autopilot, her hand reached for the whiskey. The bottle, not the glass. She needed a kick of something in order to regain any functionality.

The whiskey did its job, and Moira’s brain snapped back to reality. She had to find Angela. She had to ask the million questions that were burning through her brain.

Angela had known her work. Not just by reputation; she didn’t just know her as the mad scientist who got kicked out of the Society, she  _ really _ knew her work. Intimately. She had developed a clinical application for it. She had written her goddamn masters thesis on it. She had known about the backlash, and she had done it anyway. Fuck. How could this possibly be the same Angela Ziegler? 

Moira looked at the clock, her heart sinking when she realized just how much she had lost track of time reading through all of the papers. It was 19:12, and the gala had started almost a quarter hour ago. Angela was certain to be there. Moira was suddenly glad that Angela had made her bring the suit that she only dragged out of the closet on formal occasions. She hastily dressed, slowing down only to ensure that her tie was in a respectable-looking knot. She made half-drunken eye contact with herself in the mirror, and a crooked smile slowly spread across her face. Angela Ziegler, the angel of Overwatch, had studied her paper, and had seen potential where nobody else had. However beautiful Moira thought Angela was before, with this revelation she became simply divine. Moira had to find her, even if it meant braving a sea of geneticists playing dress-up in fancy clothes. 

 

 

•

 

It wasn’t difficult for Moira to make her way through the crowded ballroom. Regardless of how well the presentation had gone earlier, to the other conference attendees she was evidently still just Moira O’Deorain, destroyer of humanity, and they almost tripped over themselves to get out of her way. Ordinarily this would have affected her, but now she barely noticed. She was too busy scanning the room for Angela’s blonde hair or the beret that Captain Amari  _ insisted _ was classy enough to wear with her dress uniform. They were nowhere to be seen.

With a sigh, Moira stepped outside to the area designated for smoking. She had given up the habit when she arrived at Overwatch, and had managed to resist the temptation to smoke even when Angela was at her most insufferable. But now with the intense emotions of the past few hours, she had decided she deserved to at least ask if anybody had a spare cigarette. To her dismay, she found nobody else on the patio. Her disappointment quickly evaporated, however, when she heard a voice coming from a pavilioned sitting area several yards away, a voice that belonged unmistakably to Ana Amari. 

Moira almost walked towards the voice, but something she couldn’t name held her back. She wasn’t going to  _ eavesdrop _ exactly, she thought to herself, but it would be  _ rude _ to interrupt. Better to figure out if they were talking about anything  _ important, _ and  _ then _ approach. Besides, she didn’t even know if Angela was with her.

Fortunately for Moira, it had since become dark enough out that she could remain unobserved by the figures in the pavilion. She quietly crept closer, and was rewarded by hearing Angela’s voice respond to Ana’s, confirmation that both of them were there. From what Angela was saying, Moira guessed that the conversation was about the Overwatch genetically-optimized soldier program.

“—know that, Ana. We need to grasp at every opportunity we have to meet that challenge. For the foreseeable future, we’re fighting omnics, and omnics — like any mechanically-based thing — have the capability to upgrade themselves and to constantly optimize and improve their capabilities. It would be naïve moralism for us to not even  _ look into _ being able to do the same thing with our soldiers.”

Moira almost questioned whether the speaker could possibly be the Angela Ziegler she knew, but if her recent enlightenment had taught her anything, it was that she didn’t  _ really _ know Angela Ziegler.

Ana sighed. “It just doesn’t feel right. Upgrading mechanics is different from genetically optimizing biotics. We’re more than capable of keeping up with the threat without this program, and we don’t even know what effects it would have on us.” Angela started to respond, but Ana continued, “And I’m not just talking physical effects, I don’t care about that. I mean mental. Our souls, who we are. How can we know that this won’t ruin us as people, not just as bodies?”

Moira remembered reading similar objections to her work. God how she had laughed. It felt different, though, when the person saying it wasn’t a professor in a comfy endowed chair but rather a soldier, already constantly fighting to keep herself grounded as a person in the midst of trauma. She suddenly wondered whether she would have taken critiques of her work more seriously if she had read them as coming from scared humans holding tightly to the meaningfulness of life rather than rivals looking for any excuse to tear down an unorthodox approach to genetics.

“I’m not unsympathetic to that concern, Ana.” Moira could hear the care in Angela’s voice, and clung on to that familiar tone. “Believe me, I’m not. But some things are worth that risk. You’ve seen our people coming back from operations; they need  _ something _ to give them an edge. We’re not exactly dominating the field, you know.” Her voice took on a sad, almost bitter note as she went on, “and I’m the one who has to watch them die when I can’t save them. We’re already being ruined as people, Ana. We need to do whatever we can to keep ourselves alive.”

From the sounds of it, Angela had stood up and started pacing restlessly.

“I know we need to do something,” Ana slowly responded. “But are we sure that this is it?”

“I am,” Angela answered simply. “And there’s nobody better equipped to do it — and do it well — than the team we have. You know Moira’s work, you know how brilliant and fiercely competent she is, even under the emotional strain of wholesale rejection from her field.”

She went on, but Moira’s brain had stopped processing her words. She slumped against the wall behind her. This was too much. How much was there that she didn’t know about Angela? About Overwatch? About  _ anything _ ? The world she had thought she had come to know had suddenly shattered.

Wrenching herself away from the spiral her mind had started down, she willed herself to listen to what Angela was saying. By the sounds of it she was still pacing around the pavilion, still offering reassurances to Ana that the genetic enhancement project had the potential to do tremendous good for Overwatch and for the world. Moira pushed herself into a standing position. This wasn’t a good time to interrupt. She should return to her room and talk to Angela later.

After pausing to confirm that Angela was continuing with no sign of noticing her presence, Moira took a deep breath and stepped away from the wall, toward the warmth of the ballroom. Her thoughts crowded together overwhelmingly, and she couldn’t wait until she was back in her ro—

“ _ ANGELA,”  _ Ana’s voice rang out, cutting across Moira’s thoughts and interrupting the doctor. Before she could process what was happening, Moira felt a rough hand grab her forearm and another one shove her back against the wall. Ana’s eyes gleamed in the moonlight as they glared directly into Moira’s, betraying both anger and fear.

“ _ How much did you hear? _ ”


	3. Chapter 3

Dulled as her senses were from the liquor, Moira’s mind processed a second later what had just happened. Ana had seen her. Ana knew she had been listening. Fuck.

“Ana, what is it??” Moira heard Angela say as she dashed to the side of the pavilion where Ana had pinned Moira to the wall. She tried to turn her head to see her, to make sure that the Angela she had heard talking to Ana was the same Angela that she worked with, but as soon as she moved her head she felt Ana’s hand grab her chin and wrench her head back to its previous position, inches away from Ana’s face.

When the captain spoke, her voice had regained its composure, but just barely. “I’ll ask you again. What did you hear?”

Moira didn’t know how to answer that question. It didn’t matter. She couldn’t deny having heard anything, Amari would never believe  _ that. _ And really, if she had heard any of the conversation at all, what did it matter  _ how much _ she heard? Angela had been saying things that Overwatch’s renowned head of medical research would never say.

Moira’s flair for the dramatic and/or the tragic was heightened by the alcohol, and so instead of answering Ana’s question she asked one of her own, the only question that made sense, given the circumstances.

“Are you going to kill me?”

Ana seemed to have to bite back a laugh, and Angela, who had reached where the others were standing just in time to hear the question, almost choked. 

“Jesus Christ Moira, of course we’re not going to kill you.” 

Ana had, by now, regained her composure. “But,” she interjected, “you and Angela are going to have a very long talk. And the way you take that talk will be key to determining whether or not you still have a job tomorrow.”

That was fair, Moira reasoned. Losing a job was a better worst-case-scenario than waking up the next morning dead in the bushes outside of a second-rate hotel in  _ Belgium _ of all places.

“I think you can let her go,” she heard Angela say. “I really don’t think she’s going to be any trouble.”

Ana did as suggested, and mumbled an apology for being rough.

“Well,” Angela went on, “I think we had better have our conversation in my room. I was enjoying the fresh air, but, as we’ve seen, it’s a little  _ too _ open for the talk we need to have.”

She was standing in front of Moira now, almost as close as Ana had been, and reached up to touch Moira’s face. Moira’s breath hitched but she realized a second later (with a tiny bit of disappointment) that Angela was just looking at her jaw, where Ana had grabbed her, to ensure that there was no damage to the skin.

Apparently satisfied that there were no marks, Angela turned her attention to the rest of Moira, brushing the dirt off of her suit where it had been pushed against the wall. Looking back up to Moira’s eyes, she offered a tired smile. It took all of Moira’s restraint to not fall into the deep blue of Angela’s eyes.

Tearing her gaze away, Moira offered her arm to Angela in a wry gesture she didn’t expect the doctor to accept. “We still have to walk back through a gala, after all. Allow me to escort you up to the chopping block.”

Angela surprised her by accepting her arm and genuinely laughing. “I don’t think it will be as serious as that, you know. I don’t doubt that our conversation will be productive.”

Tonight had been too much. About half a dozen things that each would have taken Moira a few hours to fully process had all happened in one night. And Moira had been on the verge of drunk for most of them. But now, walking arm-in-arm with Angela back into the ballroom, her head felt clear. For one thing, she couldn’t deny to herself anymore the guilty and confusing crush she had on her supervisor. She had been avoiding all thought of it for at least a month, but it felt surprisingly  _ good _ to name it to herself. For another thing, she knew roughly what to expect from the conversation they would have upon reaching Angela’s room. She would promise perpetual silence in exchange for keeping her job. Maybe they would want some sort of assurance or collateral to ensure that Moira keep her mouth shut. It didn’t matter. Moira was prepared to do anything. She had never wanted anything nearly as much as she wanted to continue working on her project, especially with Angela, after the night’s revelations.

Was it dumb of her to press her luck? Probably. Would that stop her? Of course not. By now they were skirting around the edge of the ballroom, and the dancefloor (there was always a goddamn dance floor at these galas, as if anybody actually  _ wanted _ to watch a room full of geneticists gyrate to a beat) had started filling up.

Moira leaned over towards Angela, to where she hoped Ana couldn’t hear her, and in a voice as innocent as she could muster said, “you know, it  _ is  _ rude to walk past a dance floor without at least one dance.”

She had evidently not been soft enough to escape Ana’s notice, because her statement was greeted by a gruff “dance on your own time, O’Deorain,” and then some barely audible muttering that seemed to be about a personal escort by the highest ranking military officer in the city. The authoritative tone in Ana’s voice was  _ almost _ convincing, but it was evident that she had relaxed quite a bit, and had found Moira’s suggestion more than a little humorous.

Angela stifled a giggle. “Well Dr. O’Deorain, farbeit from me to be  _ rude _ of all things, but we  _ do _ have more pressing matters on our hands.”

Moira hadn’t really expected Angela to dance with her, had she? So why did she feel a pang of disappointment as she laughed and replied “well I  _ suppose _ that justifies the faux-pas.”

They rode the elevator and arrived at Angela’s room without talking further. As they approached the door, Moira felt the tension return. And despite herself, she was nervous as they walked inside.

After making sure that Angela was fine, Ana excused herself from the room, saying that this was a conversation that the two scientists should have in private.

Moira sat down in the seat that Angela motioned her towards, and Angela sat on the edge of her bed.

30 seconds passed, and then a minute, and neither of them spoke.

It became clear to Moira that Angela didn’t know where to start, so she tentatively broke the silence.

“I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, and I definitely didn’t mean to overhear what I heard. I wasn’t even going to be at the gala at all, except….” her voice trailed off, suddenly unsure of whether this was the right time or place to bring up her discovery of Angela’s masters thesis.

Angela shifted her gaze from the floor to Moira. “Except what?”

What did she have to lose? Might as well tell her everything.

“I was going through articles written in response to the one that ruined my career. And I found one that I hadn’t seen before. A masters thesis. From Zurich. It took a little bit of digging to track down the author, but I finally did. And so I went to find you.”

Angela seemed to tense up and almost say something before shaking her head, looking down to the floor and sighing. “So then what you heard outside wasn’t too much of a surprise.”

Moira nodded. “It was jarring, but I already knew that something didn’t add up.” Now it was her turn to look at the floor. “Although I had been sensing  _ that _ ever since my accident in the lab. You almost…” she looked back at Angela, searching for words.

“It almost seemed like Angela Ziegler stopped being Mercy for the first time,” Angela finished for her, with a wry chuckle. “I was worried I let my guard down too much that night. It was too easy to.” She looked away. “I was scared, Moira. I was scared that something would go wrong, that there would be another accident, and that everything I did to get you in my lab would be for nothing.”

“I thought you fought my hiring,” Moira said, slowly. “Was that an act too?”

“We can talk about that a little later,” Angela replied, standing up and walking over to her suitcase. She fished out what appeared to be a bottle of gin, placed it on the hotel dresser, and turned back to face Moira. “Right now, we need to talk about you.”

“You want to make sure that I won’t tell anybody else that I overheard Dr. Ziegler enthusiastically supporting the genetic enhancement program.” Moira’s mouth formed a wry smile as the stereotypical phrase came to mind. “I know too much.”

“I suppose you could say it like that,” Angela replied, with a momentary note of amusement. Her voice took on a more serious quality as she continued. “When you overheard what you did, you put both Captain Amari and myself in a very delicate position. We both need assurance that you will respect the delicateness of that position. I covered for you once before. Now I need you to cover for me.”

Moira glanced up from the hole her eyes were drilling in the floor. This was the first time that Angela had mentioned anything about that night. “Why did you cover for me then? I’ve been over and over it in my mind, and I can’t understand why you wanted to hide what I was doing.”

Now it was Angela’s turn to look at the floor. “Perhaps I was being overcautious. But if anybody else had seen what you were doing….” her voice trailed off, and Moira’s curiosity was getting the better of her.

“What could they possibly think, that I was trying to advance Overwatch’s healing capabilities? That I’d made a mistake? What would be—”

“They’d think you were creating the perfect weapon, Moira.”

Moira’s jaw hung open. A weapon?

“You were one step away. All you had to do was to find a way to direct the biotic degradation to somebody else’s body, and you would have had a ready supply of proximal biotics for the nanites to use.”

A wave of shock and disappointment washed over Moira. She had never even considered that. But of course, if the suit was to be deployed in a conflict zone, there would be more parties involved than simply the doctor and the one being healed. Using the biotic material of enemy combatants to heal Overwatch’s soldiers would be a logical implementation of her design.

Angela continued, “and if your suit design had become common knowledge, Gabe would probably have told you to weaponize it. And then I would have been forced to try to stop you. I certainly wouldn’t have been able to let you head up a project like the one we’re working on now.”

Moira thought for a second, realizing even more fully how delicate Angela’s position must be. Her voice was soft when she replied with a simple “thank you.”

Lifting her eyes to meet Angela’s, Moira continued. “It means the world to me that I’m able to help lead the genetic enhancement project. It’s the most invested in my work I’ve felt for years. I wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize the position you’ve given me, and if that means swearing perpetual silence, I’m prepared to do anything you want me to in order to guarantee that.”

Angela smiled, and visibly relaxed. “Thank you, Moira. Thank you. I know you, and I know that you don’t promise things lightly. Besides, I’m sure you know that your tenure at Overwatch would be over if you said anything to anybody other than Ana or myself, and whoever you told would likely not believe you anyway. I think that’s collateral enough.”

Moira smiled back, relieved, and watched Angela for a moment as she fetched tonic and a couple of limes out of the room’s mini-fridge. Breaking the silence, she asked, “if that’s out of the way, can I ask about my hiring now? And god, Angela, how did you get in this position to begin with??”

Angela laughed as she fixed drinks for both of them. “I suppose since you know this much already, it’s only fair for me to explain.” Handing Moira one of the glasses and taking a sip from the other, she settled back down on the bed.

“When Overwatch recruited me, I was serving as head of surgery in a large hospital. I was already friends with Ana, and she had on occasion vented to me about the strict oversight that the UN insisted on keeping over Overwatch, specifically Overwatch’s research divisions, and how Overwatch had almost been shut down multiple times out of fear that it was getting too powerful to politically manage.”

Moira nodded. She had heard something about run-ins between Overwatch and UN supervisors, but that was years ago and she had forgotten about it.

Angela continued. “And so it started almost as a joke, asking Ana if having a director of medical research that was as close to a literal angel as possible” — she rolled her eyes and Moira saw a hint of a smile on her face — “would keep the UN satisfied and at a distance. But Ana didn’t see it as a joke, she saw it as a stroke of genius.”

She laughed and took a long drink of her gin and tonic as Moira just stared at her.

“You worked a year or two in nonprofits, if memory serves, right?” When Moira nodded, Angela went on. “You must have done some grant writing. Awful stuff, draining. But think of it this way — I’m writing a grant proposal to the UN, but the grant is my professional life. If they honestly believe that I tightly control everything that the medical research division does and that I care first and foremost about ethics and procedure, they give me all the funding I could possibly want.”

“But what about the genetic enhancement program?” Moira interjected, “what about my hiring? Everybody knows you weren’t in favor of either. Publicly, at least.”

Angela grinned, and Moira could tell that she was both a little tipsy and supremely proud of herself. “That’s the beautiful thing about what I’m doing. Because the people at the UN don’t  _ actually _ want inflexible ethics, god no. They’re politicians. What they want is political cover, and an assurance that Overwatch is not going to become a threat to them. And so once they started seeing me as somebody so unflinchingly moral so as to not be dangerous, the medical research division can do practically anything and as long as I present it right, they’ll assume that I’ll keep anything from going too far. That’s why I could have you in my lab, even give you a project to co-lead. As far as your hiring itself, for all his admirable qualities, Gabe will do anything he thinks will circumvent my restrictions, and it was almost embarrassing how easy it was to make the prospect of hiring you appealing to him. All it took was one conversation about how dangerous you were and he couldn’t wait to interview you.”

Moira finished off her drink and absentmindedly started pouring herself another. This was incredible. And it made sense. It was hard to believe that Angela had pulled it off, but god if anybody could, she could.

Remembering the thing that had started the entire night, Moira asked “and what about your masters thesis? I know you closed access to it, but it still links you to me, and I can’t be the only one to have found it. Are you worried about that?”

All the tension that had left Angela’s body seemed to return. It was a few seconds before she spoke. “Where did you find that I was the author? What did it say?”

Moira shifted uncomfortably in her seat. She was confused by the second question, but answered anyway. “Professor Schönberg’s faculty page, and it just said ‘A. Ziegler,’ why?”

Angela poured herself another drink. A strong one.

“Anybody checking my references or publications through more official channels wouldn’t know I wrote a masters thesis. It was optional, after all.”

This didn’t help Moira’s confusion. “I’ve heard of people redacting publications from the online-access library database, but I’ve never seen anybody convince a university to redact the existence of a thesis….”

“They didn’t redact it, it just for some reason didn’t get updated when I notified the university of my name change.” Her voice was so low that Moira had to strain to make it out. “Heide was good enough to use just my first initial.”

Angela was looking at her as if she expected Moira to have already grasped what she was saying, almost pleading with her to not make her explicitly say it. Moira felt bad for not having put 2 and 2 together yet, but she was coming up blank. Angela’s gaze fell to rest firmly on the floor, seemingly trying to put something together to say, and Moira didn’t interrupt her.

It was nearly a minute later that she suddenly looked up at Moira and spoke, her voice low, almost a whisper. “Nobody else here knows this. Not even Ana, ok?”

Moira nodded mutely.

“I’m trans, Moira. People don’t pin that thesis back to me because it has a man’s name on it.”

It had been a long time since Moira had been closeted. She knew that the say she dressed broadcasted to the world that she was a lesbian, and she wasn’t interested in hiding that. In that moment, though, she could remember exactly how it felt those years ago to hide who she was, and the terror she had felt when she had to tell anybody whom she didn’t already know shared her identity. Coming out was hard. And she was determined to make Angela feel as safe with her disclosure as she could.

Was it the liquor that had cracked her hard exterior? Who knows. Whatever it was, she found herself moving to her knees in front of where Angela was sitting on the bed, taking Angela’s hand, and looking up into her eyes. “Thank you for telling me, Angela. I promise I won’t tell anybody. I promise.”

Angela held eye contact for several seconds, surprised by the sudden show of emotion. Moira thought she saw a hint of a blush creep over her cheeks. 

Angela looked away, and when she spoke her voice was still quiet. “I had always hoped you would be accepting if I ever told you, but I was scared. There’s always a risk. And I didn’t know how it would happen anyway. I certainly didn’t expect it to be like this.”

Moira couldn’t hold back her smile. “You didn’t think I wouldn’t search to the ends of the earth to find the only person who saw potential in my work?”

Angela smiled back, the blush spreading across her face. Moira stood up, still holding Angela’s hand. 

“You know, I was joking earlier about the dance. But now I’m not. Would you like to head back downstairs?”

With a gentle laugh, Angela stood too. “I think, Dr. O’Deorain, that I would like that very much.”


	4. Chapter 4

It was hard for Moira to go back to work and pretend that nothing had changed. Amidst all the the conference debriefing and the consideration of feedback they had received, she found her mind wandering from the professional side of the trip to the unprofessional side. The  _very_  unprofessional side. Dancing with Angela had been heaven. And so had escorting her back to her room. But the thing that Moira couldn’t keep out of her mind was the kiss Angela had pressed against her cheek, paired with an affectionate squeeze of her hand, right before she said goodnight. No, that wasn’t something that could just be forgotten. 

But they were back now, and they needed to resume their old dynamic: Angela feigning opposition to the project while Moira chafed at the restrictions that Ziegler insisted upon placing on the lab. The latter task was easily accomplished—it seemed like Angela was even  _more_  insistent on being impossible to work with than she was before the conference. The hard part for Moira was not letting on that she knew how superficial that persona was.

This particular instance, it was a discussion of the selection method for who would undergo the enhancement process. Moira had assumed that it would just be a volunteer process. But Angela had other ideas. There would be a survey of interest, followed by extensive physiological and psychological tests of all interested people, then anybody who was deemed to be fit after those tests would have the opportunity to volunteer to have their name added to a lottery. That seemed unnecessarily obtuse, thought Moira. It’s not like she wasn’t planning on screening volunteers, and honestly physiological stuff wouldn’t matter that much, because they could genetically fix anything that they found anyways. But once Angela had laid out the plan in their team meeting with command, Moira knew that she wouldn’t be budged from that public stance.

Watching Angela insist on things that Moira knew she didn’t want to do either was an interesting feeling. It was almost humorous in a way, but the humor was fleeting. The inconvenience was not.

But still, there was the nagging feeling that Angela was getting some sort of amusement out of inconveniencing her. Her supervisor had become more of a nuisance, rather than less, since Moira had learned what she had at the conference, and some things she insisted on seemed calculated to personally annoy Moira. Angela always had reasoning to back them up, but it felt like she was just messing with Moira when she had told her to use the hand-cranked laboratory shaker. Her reasoning, that one of the other doctors had already started using it and consistency was imperative, was unconvincing.

Was this flirting? Was  _that_ how Angela was blowing off steam in an environment where she had to perpetually assume a persona? It couldn’t be, could it? Moira brushed the thought aside.

But what if it was?

Angela had certainly seemed to enjoy their time together after their conversation those weeks ago. And every now and then she would brush against her or let her touch linger for a second while handing things to her.

Moira’s thoughts were interrupted by her communicator buzzing. She blushed slightly when she saw it was Angela calling, but hoped her voice wouldn’t betray any of her thoughts.

“O’Deorain.”

“Hi Moira, I know it’s late, but are you busy right now?”

The honest answer was “yes,” but if saying “no” might mean she would get to see Angela without half a dozen other people in the lab, then she would take that chance. “I just finished something, actually. Is there something you need my help with?”

Moira could hear Angela’s small sigh of relief before she cleared her throat and replied 

“It’s a small thing, but I could really use your help. There’s a confidential package that I need tonight and I’m on a very important call right now and can’t leave the office. It’s subcommand-level confidential, and since you’re this project lead you’re the only other person on this floor who has that clearance. Do you think you could head up to receiving and pick it up for me?”

Moira blinked. This wasn’t what she thought “helping Angela” would entail. Didn’t Overwatch have couriers who had been hired to do this exact thing? Oh well, if this was what Angela needed her to do, she’d do it.

The trip up to receiving wasn’t bad, and it gave her a chance to stretch her legs. Her eyes narrowed a little bit when she was given the package without needing to enter her clearance code, but she dismissed it. Mistakes are bound to happen, after all.

When she got to Angela’s office, the call had apparently ended, because Angela was doing paperwork. She looked up and flashed her smile, and that alone was worth the entire trip, Moira thought.

Moira was about to tell Angela about the mishap in labeling and how receiving needs to get its shit together if they let just anybody pick up a confidential package when a realization hit her.

Angela didn’t have an office phone. How could she have been on an important call if she had her communicator free to call Moira?

She turned her attention back to Angela just in time to see the doctor finish cutting through the packing tape and pull out the contents.

A tin of Angela’s expensive coffee. A fucking tin of coffee.

Angela smiled sweetly again, ignoring the expression on Moira’s face, and practically purred “thank you so much for picking this up for me, Moira, you’ve done the medical research division an invaluable service tonight.”

When she found her voice, all Moira could think to say was a stunned “you’re welcome” as she turned slowly toward the door.

There was now no doubt in Moira’s mind that Angela had been teasing and flirting with her all those times since the conference. And she knew that Moira couldn’t say anything or respond. Moira was glad to know the real Angela, but  _God_  the real Angela was a brat.

“Well then,” Moira thought to herself as she walked back to her office, a slow smile spreading across her face, “you’re not the only one who can play that game.”

  
•

 

The following morning was a break from routine. Cadet Lena Oxton had requested a special physiological examination, more comprehensive than most soldiers would receive, to ensure that her unique medical condition would not pose any problems should she decide to volunteer for genetic enhancement. Moira and Angela were to personally conduct the examination, and that examination was scheduled to begin at 9:30. Moira had decided that she was going to show up fashionably late. 

When she walked through the doors of the medical bay, it was evident that Angela had been rehearsing her reprimand, but she didn’t get past the first sentence before looking up at Moira, her voice suddenly trailing off.

Moira always took care that she presented herself well, but today she was extra careful. She wore her lab coat open, making it clear that her shirt and her slacks had been well tailored to her slim figure. Earlier, looking in her mirror in her room, she had thought that she looked more handsome than she had in a long time, and the stares she was getting from both Angela and Cadet Oxton seemed to confirm it.

Perfect.

She brushed by Angela, acknowledging her with only a distracted apology for being late, and focused her attention unambiguously on Oxton, introducing herself with one of her rare smiles. She took an immense amount of pleasure from the way that Angela’s eyebrows shot up and how her cheeks instantly reddened. 

“Is  _that_  all it takes to make her a little jealous?” thought Moira, “this morning is going to be even more fun than I thought.”

Moira had seen Lena around the base, and had on occasion interacted with her, but they had never been formally introduced. Something that Moira had noticed about her, though, was that Oxton would flirt with any woman whom she found attractive. Flirt outrageously, even. And from what she had seen, Moira was pretty sure she was Oxton’s type.

And so it couldn’t have made her happier when the cadet responded to her smile with a massive grin of her own and what was obviously a poorly-concealed glance at her figure.

“Mornin’ doc! And ‘Lena’ ‘s fine, only people w’call me ‘Oxton’ are men and ‘watch command.” She punctuated the last bit with a wink, a wink whose meaning was lost on nobody, judging by the way Angela was clutching her clipboard.

“Lena, then,” Moira drawled, “let’s get you all checked out. And please, call me Moira. Titles and surnames are so  _formal_.” She let that hang in the air for a second and adopted her most innocent voice before turning her attention to Angela. “What are we doing first, Dr. Ziegler?”

“I think we should start,  _Doctor O’Deorain_ , with a full bio-scan.”

The glare Angela shot at Moira would have been enough to make any of the more junior doctors resign.

  
•

 

The examination was finished in record time. Moira’s parting words to Lena, telling her to not hesitate to come talk to her if she had any questions about the genetic enhancement project, were nearly cut short by Angela forcefully closing the door and grabbing Moira’s sleeve.

“My office. Now.”

Moira had never seen Angela blush this much for so long, and had certainly never seen her this bothered.

Upon arriving at the office, Angela escorted Moira in and locked the door.

“Was that payback for the coffee?” she demanded.

Moira looked back at her with wide, innocent eyes. “What coffee? I assumed that package contained secure intelligence cleverly hidden in a coffee tin.”

Angela rolled her eyes, and Moira thought that maybe she should save further teasing for later. Taking a step closer to Angela, she continued, in her smoothest, deepest voice, “is there anything I can do to make up for my behavior?”

Angela seemed frozen in place, staring up at Moira with eyes that seemed like they were trying to take in an experience they never thought would happen.

Her voice was a whisper.

“Please.”

And Moira understood. 

When their lips met, Moira felt all of the stress, pent up from work and the enormous responsibility of keeping up appearances in the lab, wash away. She desperately hoped Angela felt the same. Her hand had found the back of Angela’s head, her fingers tangled up in blonde hair. Angela’s hands were on Moira’s hips, pulling her body closer. It was a rush unlike any Moira had felt in years. Time didn’t matter, work didn’t matter, nothing mattered but Angela and that they were kissing and how Angela was holding her close to herself.

When Angela finally broke off the kiss, it was only to rest her head on Moira’s chest.

They stayed like that in silence for a few seconds before Angela spoke.

“Lena was right, Moira, you do look incredible today.”

Moira almost said “oh I know” before thinking better of it, opting for something a little more coy. “I don’t recall Cadet Oxton commenting on my appearance….”

Angela snorted. “You knew full well she was staring. You did it on purpose.”

Moira chuckled. “Maybe I did. But I hope you know it was for you and not for her." 

Angela pulled back a little to look into Moira’s eyes, a playful note in her voice. “Hmm I don’t know…. You seemed pretty into her….”

Moira’s chuckle turned into a laugh. “I know, and it drove you crazy.” She paused to kiss Angela’s forehead before continuing. “This isn’t my first time dealing with a brat, you know.”

The shorter doctor broke away, barely holding in her own laughter and with mock offense in her voice, “a  _brat_? Well Dr. O’Deorain, I have never been so insulted in my life! You’re going to have to buy me dinner or something to make up for it.”

“Well then I guess I’ll buy you dinner, then,” Moira teased. “But in the meantime, would you care to see how my quarters look when there’s  _not_  a geneticist passed out on the floor?”

Moira wasn’t sure anybody had ever said yes to coming back to her place as fast or as breathlessly as Angela did.


	5. Chapter 5

When the knock came on her door, Moira hadn’t gotten any sleep. She had given up trying about an hour before, and had been half-concentrating on reviewing her notes. Setting them aside, she swiftly strode over to the door and opened it to see a bleary-eyed Angela. Moira wordlessly stood aside to let Angela enter.

“You look awful, Moira,” the doctor murmured. “Did you get any sleep?”

“Just as much as you got, from the looks of it,” Moira retorted, making her way to her kitchenette and the coffee machine on the counter. It wasn’t what Angela was used to, but it would do to wake them up. “Who all is going to be at the demonstration? Just Morrison, Reyes, and Amari, or did they decide to open it up to all section heads?”

“They decided at the last minute to keep it small,” Angela replied. “When people heard they thought it might be open to more than just command, Ana got flooded with special requests.” She paused for a tired chuckle. “It’s beyond me how Bao in the civil engineering unit managed to argue that observing the test would be crucial to her work, but she did. Along with half of Overwatch. So command decided to limit it to just the three of them.”

Moira nodded absentmindedly. That was a relief. She didn’t like large groups of people watching her work. And now in particular, her usual self-assuredness had given way to nagging doubts. The genetic enhancement program had been successful in some limited animal tests (she had made sure that they were humane), but doing everything under the watchful eye of Overwatch command was a different matter altogether. Particularly because she would have to be doing the heavy lifting, so as to maintain Angela’s disapproving persona.

As if sensing her thoughts, Angela crossed the room and hugged her from behind.

“It’ll be fine, Moira. You’re better at this than anyone. It’ll be fine and they’ll be impressed. And then we’ll be moving on to implementation. The hard part is over.”

Moira sighed. “I hope so.” She turned to face the doctor. “I just wish you were able to actually work alongside me. I wish you didn’t have to pull back in front of command.”

Angela’s gaze fell to the floor, and her reply was soft. “I know. I don’t like it either. But it’s just for the morning, and then we’re back in charge of our lab.”

Moira nodded. They regularly had to maintain their old dynamic in front of others, what was so different about this time? It would be fine. And then it would be over.

“And besides,” Angela continued, with a teasing hint in her voice, “we have just under three hours before the demonstration. Plenty of time to relax and brace ourselves.”

Through all of her anxiety, Moira had to chuckle. Angela was incorrigible. Ever since they had spent that first night together, they had seized every spare moment. They had to be careful, of course — it wouldn’t do to let on that Angela was _too_ close to the woman she was supposedly keeping in check, and once or twice they had almost been caught by somebody walking into the lab unannounced. And honestly, the thought of being caught just made the whole thing better and more intense.

Alone in locked quarters, however, they could be more tender and let their touches linger. Those were the moments that Moira really lived for.

Moira bent down for a kiss, and Angela’s lips eagerly found hers. She was about to flip the shorter doctor around and pin her against the kitchen cabinets when they were both startled to hear a sharp knock on the door.

Moira looked frantically around the room. The quarters were small and designed like a studio, and the bathroom was the only place that would provide hiding. Angela had evidently come to the same conclusion, because she had started moving swiftly but quietly in that direction before Moira even had a chance to open her mouth.

With Angela out of the line of sight from the doorway, Moira quickly took stock of the room as she moved to answer the knock. There was nothing of Angela’s laying out. They were safe.

She opened the door, hoping her disheveled appearance would prompt whoever was on the other side to apologize for waking her and go away. Her heart sank when she saw that the “whoever” was Ana Amari, and that Ana had a disconcertingly self-satisfied note in her voice when she invited herself in.

Moira closed the door behind the captain, her mind spinning. Why would Ana come to her quarters? Why would Ana come to her quarters at 6:30??

Ana’s voice cut through her thoughts, a voice brimming with amusement. “Are you aware that Dr. Ziegler is in your bathroom?”

Moira’s jaw practically dropped open.

“I’m asking because Gabe and Jack have a bet going — whether Angela will end up killing you or fucking you by the time the project is over,” she continued calmly, “and whether or not you know about her presence would indicate which one she’s here to do.”

“How?” was the only thing Moira could think to say.

Ana’s face broke into the grin she had been holding back since she entered the room. “I’m a covert operations specialist, dear. I know what hurried footsteps sound like, especially when they belong to a very close friend.”

As she was speaking, Angela sheepishly emerged from the bathroom. Ana’s smile broadened when she saw her.

“Well?” Moira asked her with a wry, crooked smile, having overcome her shock and regained her grasp of the situation, “which one are you here for?”

The question provoked a deep blush that neither Moira nor Ana missed.

“I take it that Gabe won,” Ana laughed, “but I don’t think I’ll crush Jack’s spirit just yet. I won’t tell if you won’t.”

This caused Angela to turn an even deeper shade of red, and Moira decided that she was enjoying this very much.

But the moment couldn’t last forever. Turning her attention away from Angela, Moira cleared her throat and asked the question that had been at the front of her mind since she opened the door. “What did you want to talk to me about?”

“May we discuss it over coffee?” Ana asked, gesturing to the newly-filled pot on the counter.

Obligingly, Moira fetched three mugs from the cabinet and returned shortly to where the other two were, by now, sitting.

“I know this demonstration is going to be hard,” the captain began. “You’ll need to act like working with each other is the worst thing you’ve each ever experienced.” She held up her hand to forestall Angela’s interjection. “I know you know that. The reason I’m saying it is because, frankly, you haven’t been doing a good job of it, and I need to know that you’re prepared to perform in front of Gabe and Jack.”

She paused for a sip of coffee, and Moira’s gaze briefly met Angela’s before falling to the floor.

Ana continued. “It’s nothing terribly serious — and maybe it’s just because he’s upset you haven’t shown any murderous impulses yet and he’s on the line for 20 euros — but Jack has mused once or twice over the past two weeks about which one of you it really is that’s keeping the other in line. Be careful, Angela.”

The doctor nodded wordlessly, shooting a worried look at Moira.

Briefly returning the look, Moira cleared her throat and quietly spoke. “Is there anything in particular we should be sure to do?”

“Fight,” came the answer. “Or at least make it seem like there’s a fight bubbling just below the surface. You’ve both gotten in the habit of acquiescing to the other too easily. It looks like you’re actually working together instead of at cross-purposes.”

Moira nodded. She could do that.

  
•  


Moira looked over her workspace. It was 15 minutes before command was expected to arrive, and she was nervous. The demonstration itself had ceased to be a big worry — she had reviewed what they would be showing command, and she had full confidence that they wouldn’t ask any questions that she wouldn’t have authoritative answers for. No, she was worried about Angela and how she would react to Ana’s remarks a few hours earlier. Moira didn’t feel that she could anticipate at all what Angela would be like in the demonstration, or what she would say. She was trying to brace herself for the unknown, but she hated the unknown with a passion. She wished they had discussed an approach, but both Angela and Ana had said that would make it appear too rehearsed and planned. Better to just wing it, they said. So here she was, standing in her lab with now 14 minutes to go, alone.

Gabe would arrive first, she figured, followed a few minutes later by Jack and Ana, who would probably be arguing over something that wasn’t nearly important enough to get heated about. That was how they all worked. She knew them. She knew how they thought, and she knew how to sell them on things. She repeated those points in her head like a mantra, despite how hollow they felt.

She didn’t know what Angela would do.

She didn’t know what lengths Angela would go to in order to maintain her position in Overwatch.

She didn’t even know how much Angela even cared for her. She could feel the uncomfortable thought reasserting itself despite her attempts to dismiss it. What if Angela didn’t reciprocate her feelings? What if Angela just saw her as somebody to blow off steam with after what must have seemed like ages with no sexual release?

What if Angela didn’t love her like she had come to love Angela?

She was almost relieved to hear Gabe’s boots approaching the lab door. As nervous as she was about the demonstration, being alone with her thoughts was worse.

He greeted her with a sharp nod and a curt “morning.” He pulled a chair from a vacant desk and sat, seemingly on the verge of saying something. Moira knew better to press Gabe for anything he wasn’t ready to share, so she simply waited. As it turned out, it wasn’t long before he spoke, his eyes betraying an eagerness that his calm tone did not.

“Assuming we like this demonstration, what’s your schedule? With implementation, I mean.”

Moira thought for a moment before responding. “As far as I know, we should be able to move on to preliminary personnel evaluations immediately, for everybody who’s interested in the program. Dr. Ziegler wants a complete psychological and physiological profile on everybody before we even begin considering them. Depending on interest, that should take anywhere from one to three months. Anybody who’s cleared will be eligible to enter a lottery for program selection.”

Gabe nodded. “How many slots are there in the program?”

“I don’t think that’s been decided yet,” Moira replied. “That decision will probably either be made by command or by Dr. Ziegler.”

Gabe’s reply, if he was going to give one, was interrupted by Ana and Jack as they entered the lab. Moira held back a small smile. They were arguing, just like she had thought they would be. She had, though, expected Angela to be with them, and now she was at a loss as to when Angela would even show up. She wouldn’t skip this, would she? Although the demonstration was scheduled to start in a minute or two, Moira decided to wait until either Angela showed up or one of her onlookers told her to start.

According to the wall clock, Angela stormed in precisely 15 seconds before the presentation was scheduled to start. She did not acknowledge Moira.

She began speaking as soon as she had arrived at the central table, where Moira had set up some of the testing subjects and various charts. Her voice carried an edge that Moira hadn’t heard in a long time.

“As head of the Overwatch Medical Research Division, it is my opinion that this demonstration is unnecessary, and my professional recommendation that this program be cancelled and all further research along these lines terminated.”

Moira was dumbfounded. Whatever she had expected, it had certainly not been that. Angela wouldn’t let them actually trash the whole program, would she?

The others were apparently just as surprised as she was.

Gabe looked incredulously between Angela and Moira and Jack, and Ana simply leaned back in her chair, her face impassive save for her raised eyebrows.

Jack’s jaw hung open for an instant before he collected himself and calmly replied. “Thank you for your report, doctor. Your recommendation has been noted and disregarded. Please begin the demonstration.”

Moira slowly let out the breath she had been holding in. Thank God he had shut that down. The last thing she needed was for the past year’s worth of work to be for nothing.

She glanced over at Angela, hoping to get some clue about how to start presenting their work now, and her eyes locked for a second with Angela’s. She didn’t see any hint of the Angela she knew, the Angela underneath the facade. She just saw fear and frustration and anger. Her heart sank. She had lost her, hadn’t she. Amari had pushed her back into her character, and who knows if anything they had shared would mean anything now.

Oh well.

If Angela’s untouchable position was so important to her that she’d run the risk of cutting her loose, Moira thought, then she would at last give Angela the fight that would solidify that position. Maybe this project could salvage her scientific career, even if it would feel meaningless without Angela.

Angela had just begun saying something when Moira heard her own voice, as cold as ice, cutting across the doctor’s words. “As the person with actual expertise in this field, who has devoted her career to this work, I believe I should be the one to present this material, doctor.”

Without waiting for Angela to respond, she turned her attention to the command officers and continued.

“My work thus far has consisted of three stages, each with a distinct species of test subject. The first and most limited test was in the offspring of mice.” She indicated two glass tanks sitting on the table, and gestured for the officers to come closer. “The tank labeled ‘1’ contains a control group of offspring, and ‘2’ contains the modified offspring. As you can see, the genetic changes we introduced have caused them to grow to twice the size as any mouse in the control group, and they are all precisely the same color, something I did as well.”

Ana looked at Angela and nodded toward the tank. “Any health issues?”

Angela’s answer came through gritted teeth. “None that we could find.”

“Behavior?” Jack asked.

“Nothing abnormal. They act like mice.”

Moira cleared her throat and continued. “After that phase, we moved on to rabbits. Rather than work with offspring, we—” she glanced over at Angela before correcting herself, “—I attempted to rewrite the genetic replication process in key areas of the body, allowing regular cellular replacement processes to spread the new genetic material and alter the animal’s physicality accordingly.” She gestured toward a large cage containing two rabbits. “Can anybody tell me their breed?”

The three officers glanced somewhat confusedly amongst themselves, before Gabe offered a weak “lop?”

“The are both French lops, to be precise,” Moira answered. “But the present tense is important. When I acquired them they were Himalayans.”

This provoked noises of surprise from all three officers, and prompted Angela, already sulking in a chair she had pulled up for herself, to mutter something darkly under her breath.

Moira continued, forestalling the inevitable questions. “I sped up cellular regeneration, and the change occurred over the course of around a month. There did not seem to be any pain or irritability on the part of the animals, and they show no health problems.”

Jack’s voice was awestruck when he spoke. “This is incredible, Dr. O’Deorain. What of the third phase?”

Moira smiled and picked up the holopad that sat on the far end of the table. A video feed of an unusually large Doberman appeared, the dog scampering around the enclosure in a way almost comical for an animal of its size.

“This is live from one of the bio-lab kennels. In the third phase, I followed a similar procedure as the second, but with a particular mind towards physical strength, agility, and — perhaps most importantly — personality. He used to be a toy breed, a jittery little thing that was never quiet. As you can see, very little about his personality has changed. He’s thoroughly the same dog as he was when I began, regardless of any physical changes.” She glanced at Ana, hoping that this would assuage the uncertainty the captain had expressed previously. Ana’s comments had been what prompted her to insist on carefully measuring the personality component, and she hoped she was satisfied.

Before she could glean any information about Ana’s thoughts, however, Angela had stood up and practically stormed over to the table.

“Now that O’Deorain’s had her chance to tell you what she did to these poor animals, you should know that there’s no reason to believe that this is anything more than a novelty. We have no idea what effect it will have on humans, particularly on human cognitive functions, and we can’t know unless we put Overwatch personnel in danger. I must repeat my recommendation to discontinue.”

This time it was Gabe who spoke, in a short, clipped tone. “We heard your recommendation the first time. Morrison gave you an answer. Let it go, Ziegler.”

She turned towards him, fire in her eyes. “If command still wants this project to go forward, then fine. But enrollment will be capped at 100 people. Period. Or I go to the U.N. and tell them you’re letting _Moira O’Deorain_ have free rein on a dangerous and inhumane project.”

It felt like Moira’s heart stopped, hearing the woman she loved spit out her name as contemptuously as Angela just did. The rest of the presentation was a blur. She could stand everything else, but this?

She managed to finish the presentation and run through all of the technical information, but her mind was elsewhere. She barely registered the firmness of the handshake that Ana gave her, or the softness in the captain’s eyes. At least she wasn’t suffering completely alone, she thought, though that was small consolation.

Angela had already left the lab when Jack finished asking questions. She hadn’t really expected her supervisor to stay and speak with her privately, but it was disappointing nonetheless. And she didn’t know how many more disappointments she could take in one day.

As she walked back to her quarters, Moira realized just how scared she felt — scared that Angela would withdraw, that she would see Moira as a liability to her position. And in a choice between Moira O’Deorain and Overwatch, Angela would undoubtedly pick Overwatch.

Moira was scared.

And Moira was heartbroken.


	6. Chapter 6

Angela didn’t come in to work the following day. Moira just had to glance at the clock to know that she would be in the lab alone — Angela had never come in later than 9:00, and it was now 9:05. She tried to tell herself that this didn’t mean anything, that maybe Angela was just not feeling well, but the words were empty. Something had shifted in their professional relationship, and that didn’t bode well for their personal relationship.

It wasn’t that Moira didn’t understand Angela’s fear. She had a lot to lose if people began to question her ethical integrity. And there were a lot of things that went on quietly in the medical research division that would raise a lot of eyebrows if the U.N. actually inspected operations to the same degree that they believed Angela was. Not only would Angela’s carer be over, but so too would Overwatch’s research funding and capabilities.

But through it all, Moira wanted to be close to Angela. She could handle the necessary professional conflict (although she admittedly hadn’t been the best at maintaining that level of conflict), but the fear was overwhelming that the disdain with which Angela had spat out her name the previous day would come to define all of their interactions.

When a week had passed and Angela hadn’t gone out of her way to talk to Moira, or to treat her particularly well in the lab, Moira supposed that her fears were realized. It hurt to come in to work every day just for Angela, the person she had absolutely fallen for, the woman that she would have given anything to be with, to snub her and act as if her very presence was an offense to science. It made it feel _worse_ to know that it was an act — to know that Angela chose to act that way simply as a means to an end. Moira knew that was unfair to Angela, she knew what was at stake, but it still _hurt_.

Another week passed. They had settled into an uncomfortable, tense dynamic, and the soldiers coming through the lab for physicals were thrust right in the middle of it. Moira felt sorry for them, but said nothing. She just wanted to do her job and then retreat to the whiskey that was waiting for her in her quarters. She knew it wasn’t the _healthiest_ habit, but it was something she could count on. The only thing she could count on.

By the third week, she was simply numb. She was drinking too much and smoking too much, and she was tired of hurting. Angela hadn’t even tried to talk to her _once_ about anything other than work.

It was Thursday night, and Moira was trying to get the bulk of Friday’s work done so she could justify taking off Friday and getting away from Overwatch for the weekend. She was going to rent a car and drive to Bern. She didn’t know anyone there, or have any idea of what she was going to do, but she needed to be away.

Friday was paperwork day. In some ways that was a good thing, because it made it easier to work ahead. In some other ways, however, being a co-director had its pitfalls. Her desk was accumulating a “take to Angela” pile, and she dreaded having to take it. She was pretty sure that Angela would be in her office working, so she wouldn’t be disturbing, but she still dreaded it.

At a certain point, though, it couldn’t be helped, and Moira couldn’t put it off any longer. She slipped the papers into a folder, took a deep breath, and headed toward Angela’s office.

The lamp was on but Angela’s door was closed, and Moira hesitated. Maybe she _would_ be disturbing something. Maybe it would be better to wait after all. She had just turned to head back to her own office when she heard what sounded like a sob coming from behind the door.

Her mind immediately swung into action, running through anything that could have possibly happened to Angela in her office and mentally bracing herself to dash for a first-aid kit. She threw opened the door and quickly stepped inside, hastily scanning the office for any hazard that might have caused Angela’s outburst.

What she saw instead was a startled, teary Angela looking up at her from where she was sitting on the floor, a bottle of wine in her hand.

They held a stunned eye contact for a few seconds before Angela’s head dropped to her hands and another sob shook her body. Moira was beside her in an instant.

“I can’t do this, Moira,” she managed, through her ragged breaths. “I feel so alone. And you helped me not feel alone. But if I’m close to you then everything will fall apart. I don’t know what to do.”

Her hand found Moira’s and she clasped it tightly. Moira didn’t know what to say, so she simply put her other arm around Angela and let her talk.

“It used to be easy. Before you found out, I mean. It felt like almost a game. But then we started working together, and you found out, and we started getting closer, and…” her voice trailed off in a flurry of new tears. “And now I can’t go back to it. Ana needs me to convince Gabe and Jack and everybody that I despise you and everything you stand for, and it’s so hard.” Her gaze fell to the floor, and her words were coming fast, like a flood. “And I’ve been so ashamed and I haven’t talked to you, I’ve just dug in and said worse and worse things to you and about you, and it’s _killing_ me to treat the woman I love like —” Her voice broke off and she looked up at Moira, seemingly mortified that she had let slip more than she should have.

Moira stared into her eyes, and Angela stared back, neither one speaking. Moira could feel tears beginning to well up in her own eyes as she tried unsuccessfully to put words to what she was feeling.

“I love you too,” she whispered.

The memories of the past few weeks would certainly continue to be sore spots for her, but at the moment she had never felt more free. Angela loved her.

Angela broke eye contact, but just to rest her head on Moira’s shoulder.

“I wish we could just leave. I wish I didn’t have to pretend anymore.”

An idea flashed through Moira’s head. “Do you have any business to do in Bern?”

Angela pulled back and looked inquisitively at Moira. “I don’t… think so, why?”

“I have hotel reservations for the weekend there. I was going to get away from Overwatch for a bit.”

Angela winced. “Get away from me, you mean.”

Moira’s hand found Angela’s cheek, and gently lifted her head to look into her eyes. “That doesn’t matter anymore. What matters is that I love you, and you love me, and we could both use some time away from here. And I would like to spend that time together.”

Tears had returned to Angela’s eyes as her hand found Moira’s against her cheek. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this is short, it wasn’t initially supposed to be a stand-alone chapter but y’all have no idea how much I hate leaving people on emotional cliffhangers, and esp bc I don’t have a regular posting schedule I decided to post it rather than saving it for the first section of a longer chapter.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay y'all, but the good news is that the most hellish semester of my life is over and I *am* going to finish this.

Neither Moira nor Angela wanted to come back from Bern, but the weekend couldn’t last forever. The car ride back to the Overwatch facility was a somber one.

Moira glanced over at the doctor, her head resting against the window and gazing out at the scenery. She didn’t want to disturb Angela, but they both knew they had to talk about the dynamic they needed to create in the lab.

As it sensing Moira’s eyes on her, Angela softly spoke. “I’m not going to ignore you again.” She turned her head to look at Moira. “Regardless of anything we have to do to keep the normal image up, I won’t stop talking. I promise.”

Moira nodded, and turned her gaze back to the road, the silence returning. That was honestly as much as she could hope for.

The rest of the ride passed far too quickly.

The next morning began uneventfully. Moira had arrived at the lab before Angela, as normal, and was finding her work productive. She had smoothed out a couple of potential snags already when Angela came in. Everything was back to normal.

Except for Gabe showing up unexpectedly in the lab a little before noon, his face inscrutable. 

“Ziegler, O’Deorain. Is there anybody else in this lab right now?”

Despite her attempt to keep a straight face, Moira’s eyebrows rose. Angela glanced at her, a mixture of confusion and apprehension in her eyes, and replied.

“It’s been just us all this morning. Is there something you want to talk to us about?”

Gabe’s piercing gaze seemed to rest heavily on both of them. “Yes. And I would prefer it if you would lock the door.”

Moira moved mechanically to do as he suggested. She didn’t know what was coming next, and that terrified her.

Gabe watched her, appearing to relax slightly when the door was locked. He cleared his throat.

“Either you aren’t the person I thought you were, or you aren’t,” he said in a low voice, addressing Angela first and then Moira, “but something’s going on.”

Moira and Angela shared a second of panicked eye contact before Angela spoke, giving the best approximation of indignance she could under the circumstances. “What makes you say that? And what could you possibly mean by ‘something’s going on’?”

Gabe regarded her impassively. “I mean, Dr. Ziegler, that people who hate each other as much as you and O’Deorain supposedly do generally aren’t caught by security cameras frequenting each other’s personal quarters.”

Angela opened her mouth, presumably to respond, but no sound came out. Moira didn’t know what to say, but she had to say something to deny what Gabe was implying. She couldn’t see Angela’s career ruined.

“Quarters are more comfortable than the lab or our offices, and Dr. Ziegler was kind enough on a few occasions to assist with some calculations I was struggling with relating to the genetic enhancement project.”

Gabe turned his attention to her, one eyebrow raised. “And I’m sure a hotel room in Bern was simply a more comfortable and convenient place for you two to work on calculations as well.”

Moira’s gaze fell to the floor. She didn’t know what to say. Angela’s voice cut across her spiraling thoughts, her indignation apparent.

“You had us  _ followed? _ ”

“Of course I did,” Gabe replied immediately, as though it was too self-evident to warrant the two doctors’ shock. “Do you think I’ve gotten to where I am by  _ not _ keeping tabs on people with access to highly classified and dangerous information? I didn’t think you two were the type to team up and sell Overwatch’s secrets, but when both of you suddenly took a day off, I couldn’t ignore it.” He paused for a wry chuckle. “Imagine my surprise when the two of you just shacked up for the weekend.”

Gabe cleared his throat again.

“I don’t know everything that’s going on between you, and I don’t care to know the details. But what I do know is that suddenly Ziegler doesn’t seem so holier-than-thou. And so I wanted to have a talk with both of you.”

Angela’s anxious movements had stilled, and when she spoke her voice was level and controlled.

“Are you going to tell Jack?”

Gabe thought for a second before replying. “I think I could get more out of not telling him, provided you two are cooperative.”

Moira and Angela shared a look before Angela spoke again. “What do you want from us?”

Gabe smiled and appropriated a chair from a nearby desk, relaxing back into it and propping his feet up on the room’s central table, with little regard for the papers on it. “I got a lottery slot for the genetic enhancement program, number 24 out of 100. I want more than just increased strength, agility, and sight. I want you to make me the perfect covert operations specialist, like a human ghost.”

Silence fell in the lab. Moira waited for Angela to respond. She didn’t know how the other doctor was going to approach this new development, whether she would prefer to deny that they were intimately involved or to tacitly admit it by actually considering Gabe’s demand. She didn’t want to say the wrong thing and push Angela down either of the two roads.

Angela’s voice was low, and Moira could hear the uncertainty and fear in it. “I’ll give you a body even better than you can imagine. Just please don’t tell anybody. Please.”

Gabe’s smile broadened, and he leaned back in the chair. “Perfect. I was hoping we could come to an understanding.”

Angela and Moira worked in silence for most of the afternoon. Neither one had felt like taking a lunch break, and it was getting close to evening. Moira heard Angela loudly sigh behind her, and the sound of a chair being pushed back from a table.

“I’m going to pick up dinner for both of us and bring it back here. And then we should talk about our new problem, Soldier 24.”

Moira nodded silently. She needed a break almost as much as she needed food. As Angela’s footsteps got fainter and fainter down the hallway, Moira pulled up the files on the 100 lucky soldiers who had been randomly selected for the genetic enhancement project. The selection had been recent, and neither she nor Angela had looked particularly closely at the case files on each of them, or even at the list of names. When Moira had skimmed over the list, only two names had particularly caught her attention: Gabe Reyes and Jack Morrison, #24 and #76. She pulled up Gabe’s file and began browsing it. As expected, there were no health concerns. He was the pinnacle of health.

Moira leaned back in her chair and tried to picture what Angela could have possibly meant by “a body even better than you can imagine.” She didn’t lack in imagination, but she honestly didn’t know what Angela had in mind. Just how much was she planning to change him?

Her thoughts were interrupted by Angela’s return. The doctor placed a tray containing two sandwiches on the table, and turned back to lock the door. Moira opened her mouth to ask about drinks but Angela, as if reading her mind, cut her off.

“Get the whiskey from my desk, third drawer down on the right side. I think we both need it.”

Moira obliged, raising her eyebrows slightly when she saw the label. She wouldn’t have guessed that Angela kept whiskey  _ this good _ in her lab desk. Angela had fetched two clean glasses from the cabinet and slid them across the table to Moira, who obligingly poured the liquor. They ate in silence for several minutes before Moira spoke.

“How are you feeling?”

Angela took a few seconds to respond, and when she did she didn’t look up from her whiskey.

“Tired. I hate that such a good weekend had to end with  _ that _ .”

Moira nodded. “What are we going to do about Gabe?”

“We’re going to help him become what he wants to be,” Angela sighed. “I don’t know how yet, and I don’t know exactly what he’s expecting, but we don’t really have a choice.”

Moira’s gaze dropped to her half-eaten sandwich. “Would it really be that bad if he told?”

When Angela’s piercing eyes shot up, Moira quickly added, “It’s not as if he can prove otherwise if we say it was just sex, and we still professionally hate each other.” She could feel Angela’s eyes drilling into her, and she knew even as she was saying it that it would not work. When she looked up to meet Angela’s gaze, she found it gentler than expected, and with a hint of sadness.

“The entire field of genetics got you so wrong.” Angela’s voice carried none of the edge that Moira expected.

Moira raised her eyebrows. This was not where she thought the conversation would go, and she was at a loss for how to respond.

After a second or two of silence, Angela continued. “You sounded like Ana just then, willing to take the personally harder route rather than risk stripping a person of their humanity. Hardly the same Moira O’Deorain that the EUSG thought they were dealing with when they kicked you out.”

Moira looked back down, suddenly confronted by hurt and pain that she had never shared with anybody else. There was nothing to say.

To be honest, she wasn’t even herself sure whether she was the same Moira O’Deorain that the EUSG kicked out a couple of decades ago. Back then, faced with the same opportunity, her vision and imagination might have outstripped even Gabe’s own. Maybe. But back then her work was still mostly theoretical and highly controlled; she couldn’t have imagined human genetic optimization being so possible. Maybe if it had been possible then she would have chosen to present it with more care. Maybe.

When she didn’t reply, Angela reached out and placed her hand gently over Moira’s. “Are you okay?”

Moira’s eyes met Angela’s. “I’m okay. I’ll be okay. We just need to get Reyes taken care of so nothing happens to you.”

Angela nodded. She was looking at Moira with those beautiful, perfect blue eyes, and Moira realized that everything that had happened in her life, all the pain, had been worth it because it all led here, to those eyes, to Angela.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

•

Another conference. Another presentation.

This time, Ana had found an excuse to not accompany them. The twinkle in her eye when she told Moira and Angela indicated that she didn’t  _ really _ need to be going on a low-level reconnaissance mission the week of the conference, and she was just giving the two space. Moira appreciated that immensely. Since their conversation with Gabe, they had decided to refrain as much as possible from being seen around each other’s quarters, and a weekend like their weekend in Bern was unthinkable. But now they had adjoining hotel rooms for 4 nights, hundreds of miles away from Overwatch. And Moira was planning on making the most of those nights.

She and Angela had planned to meet for a late dinner and take the intervening time to settle in to their hotel rooms, but after a quick shower and the small amount of unpacking she had to do, Moira threw on a shirt and tie and headed down to the first floor bar. She wanted a little time to unwind after their flight, and the bar looked more tolerable than most hotel lobby bars. For happy hour, it was surprisingly not too busy, and she snagged a small booth along the wall. In true Moira fashion, she had brought academic articles she had been meaning to read to to help her relax, and she set her briefcase on the booth to indicate that it was occupied as she went to the bar to order a drink.

She had scarcely made it back to her seat when she became acutely aware of another patron who had just entered the bar: Angela, wearing a stunning deep blue cocktail dress. She had evidently not yet noticed Moira, and made a beeline to one of the empty bar stools.

Moira didn’t immediately try to get her attention. Each of them had come to the bar individually, and she didn’t want to presume upon Angela’s alone time. They would be together soon enough, she reasoned. For the time being, it was better to do some light reading periodically interspersed with glances up at the most beautiful woman she had ever seen, the woman she loved.

Angela was two glasses of wine in, and seemed to be visibly more relaxed, something that Moira was glad to see. After gazing absentmindedly at her for a few seconds, Moira was surprised by her communicator buzzing.

**aziegl:** _Are you settling in okay?_

**aziegl:** _ I finished unpacking quickly and headed down to the bar for a couple of drinks. I can’t wait to show you the dress I brought. _

**aziegl:** _ What are you doing? _

Moira grinned.

**modeor:** _ Reading some articles I brought along. My favorite leisure activity. _

Moira watched Angela hear her communicator buzz against the wood of the bar, and chuckled at the way she scoffed and shook her head. Moira could imagine the eye-roll that went along with it.

**aziegl:** _ Your *favorite* leisure activity? I’ll have to show you some other activities that are more fun… _

It had been decades since Moira had utilized text-based communication for could be called “sexting.” But now she was seeing a renewed appeal, and it just made it better that she would be able to see the reactions that she provoked.

**modeor:** _ What activities might those be? _

**aziegl:** _ Would it be too obvious if I said “wrestling”? _

Moira tried to hold back her snort of laughter, but she was only partially successful, and the noise prompted Angela to glance back in her direction and then almost fall off of her stool upon seeing Moira. The light blush that Angela always got when drinking wine deepened and spread across her face as she scooped up her glass and made her way over to Moira’s booth.

“You’ll notice that I told the truth, I am reading,” Moira said with a grin, “I just wanted to get out of my room for a little.”

Angela’s laugh was genuine and warm. “So I see. May I join you?”

“Of course!”

They sat in silence for few minutes, each slowly tending to their drink. Moira was glancing over the articles but, truth be told, she had long since stopped gleaning information from them. Her attention was firmly on Angela and the way that Angela seemed to be undressing her with her eyes. Angela wasn’t the only one who had sex on her mind, either. Moira was finding it harder and harder to concentrate on anything other than the way that Angela’s dress clung to her body.

Moira put down her reading and grinned at Angela. The devious nature of the grin must have shone through, because Angela’s eyebrows immediately shot up.

Moira finished off her drink in one gulp. “Wrestling?”

Angela’s blush deepened and her gaze dropped down to Moira’s neck and chest. “I’m not terribly good at wrestling, honestly. It would probably end with me being pinned down.”

“Just the way you like it.”

Moira noticed Angela’s breath hitch and her eyes flit distractedly to over her shoulder and rest on something behind her. After a few seconds Moira glanced back to the other side of the lobby to see what she was looking at. A hallway of single-occupancy bathrooms. She turned back to look at Angela, who was now blushing even more furiously and looking down. The time for being coy was over. Both women knew what they wanted.

“How badly do you want me?” Moira asked, her voice low and smooth.

“So very badly,” came the whispered response.

“Here? In the lobby?”

“ _ Please _ .”

The walk across the lobby felt electric, anticipation coursing through the veins of both women. Moira’s arm was around Angela, and later it would bring tears to her eyes how natural it felt, and how badly she wished she could be this open about her affection everywhere. In the moment, though, Moira could think of only one thing: how she was about to fuck Angela in a hotel bathroom.

After what seemed like the longest walk of Moira’s life, they had crossed the lobby and she was locking the door behind them. Angela was practically trembling with desire and anticipation, and in that moment, satiating Angela’s desire felt like the culmination of her life’s work.

 


	8. Chapter 8

Other than the occasional secret rendezvous and the private moments Moira and Angela shared when nobody else was around, the next few weeks passed uneventfully. The two doctors made steady progress, and before long the shape of their end result began to solidify. That is, for everybody except Soldier 24. Moira was growing increasingly concerned about Gabe’s special request, and that concern wasn’t helped any by Angela’s response whenever the commander would request an update.

He had been in the lab just the previous morning, asking about his genetic enhancement, and Angela had waved him off as she always did, with a professional smile and an assurance that “we’re making steady progress with it; I’m certain you’ll love the end result,” but that she couldn’t say more at that time.

That worried Moira. Gabe wasn’t the type of person who took well to being patronized, and Moira was scared that if he knew the truth, that they hadn’t even discussed his case yet, he would take it as a breaking of their agreement. And he would tell everybody that Angela wasn’t who she seemed.

And it wasn’t as if Moira hadn’t tried to start the conversation. As soon as Gabe had left, she had tried again, but to no avail. Angela simply smiled softly (and, Moira thought, a little sadly, but she pushed that thought away) and said that the bulk of the project was what was important right now. They had deadlines to meet, Angela reminded her, and they would only risk missing them if they devoted too much time to the case of Soldier 24 before the other 99 cases were set. Her voice was gentle, but Moira knew her well enough to know that she would not budge. So she let it go. Again. But the feeling of unease that had lodged itself in the pit of her stomach grew a little.

It was still there this afternoon, as Moira worked in the lab alone. Angela had taken the day off, complaining of a fever. She had brushed off all of Moira’s attempts to stay and take care of her, insisting on sleeping it off herself. It  _ was _ only a fever after all, Moira thought, and there was little she could do if Angela didn’t feel she needed somebody there. And so she was in the lab. Alone.

Her head shot up as she heard the doors open, and was confused to see Gabe standing there, glancing around the lab. His voice carried a slight note of confusion as he spoke.

“Is Ziegler in?”

“She’s sick in her quarters today, I’m afraid.” She added, almost without thinking of it, “is there something I can help you with?”

Gabe shook his head. “We were supposed to…” His voice, almost a mutter already, trailed off before he looked up to return her eye contact. “I don’t think so, O’Deorain, I just had a specific question for Ziegler. Tell her to com me when she’s better, okay?”

Moira nodded absently, her mind still trying to figure out whatever it could have possibly been that Gabe and Angela were supposed to do. She barely noticed Gabe giving one last furtive glance around the lab before turning on his heel and striding out.

After a half hour of trying unsuccessfully to pull her mind back to her work, she decided to go check on Angela. She wasn’t going to bring up her encounter with Gabe just yet, but she wasn’t getting much done in the lab and she needed a break. Angela’s office was in the direction of her quarters too, and that would give her a chance to drop off some paperwork there.

All thoughts of visiting Angela’s quarters vanished when Moira approached her supervisor’s office. The light was on, and low voices could barely be heard through the cracked door. She pursed her lips slightly as she remembered the last time that she had eavesdropped on Angela, but she didn’t let that stop her from silently gliding to the wall next to the door and trying to make out what the voices were saying.

She noticed with very little surprise that they belonged to Gabe and Angela.

She was slightly more surprised by the fact that Angela seemed to be going through design specifications for Soldier 24, specs as new to her as they must have been to Gabe.

And again, Moira found herself leaning against a wall, listening in on Angela’s conversation, absolutely stunned by what she was hearing and realizing just how much about Angela she didn’t know.

This time, however, she got away without being noticed, and headed straight for her quarters.

The first thing she needed was a drink. The second thing was to figure out how she was going to handle this information. She obviously couldn’t just tell Angela that she had overheard the conversation, could she? Angela obviously had gone to great lengths to hide that information from her, if she was far enough along the planning process to brief Gabe on specifics without Moira’s knowledge. But she couldn’t just go back to work and act as if nothing happened, could she? If she tried, she would probably give some indication that something was wrong and Angela would ask, and then she’d have to either lie or have the conversation she was trying to avoid. And Moira didn’t want to lie to the woman she loved.

She poured herself another. And another after that. She didn’t know what to do. 

What possible reason could Angela have had for doing that? She was certainly more than competent at the work, but Moira was the expert on genetics. Why would she be cut out of the arguably most crucial part of the whole project? Moira kept coming back to that question. Why? Why would Angela do this alone, in secret? Their relationship was strong, and Moira hadn’t seen any indication of Angela withdrawing from it or growing more distant. Why? This was their project, theirs together, and they agreed to Gabe’s request together.

Another drink. By now Moira was pacing around her room.

She would have expected this from Jack, would have expected it from anybody else in the medical research division, would have expected it from anybody in the field of genetics. They would have tried to do as much as possible without her, out of fear that she would twist the project to bad ends. They were convinced that she was a bad person, and nothing she could do or say would change that. But Moira was a good person, at least in her own way, and Angela knew that. Why would she——

She stopped dead, making eye contact with herself in her bedroom mirror.

Maybe Angela didn’t think she was a good person. Maybe Angela kept her away from the Soldier 24 file because she didn’t trust her to stay within appropriate bounds. Maybe Angela thought that she could temper Gabe’s ambition on her own, but that Moira would just fan it. Maybe Angela saw her like the rest of the world saw her, as a fundamentally bad person, somebody to work alongside when it was convenient and to toss aside before she could do any of the damage she would inevitably do.

Maybe this was always the way it was going to go. Maybe Angela didn’t actually see her any differently than anybody else.

Moira all but collapsed into her bed. It was scarcely evening, but she didn’t want to be awake. She was too close to sleep to hear her communicator buzzing, or the sound of her door opening a little later, or even Angela’s hurried footsteps. The next thing she knew she was being shaken awake by gentle yet insistent hands, and saw the fuzzy image of Angela standing over her, worry and fear written across her face, concern evident in her voice.

“Moira, please, wake up, this isn’t like you, please tell me what happened, what’s wrong?”

Moira felt Angela’s hand, soft and warm, against her cheek, and despite herself she leaned her head into the touch. She closed her eyes again. She was still quite drunk, and trying to process both watching and listening to Angela was exhausting.

“I jusst had… had ssome whiskey.”

“I can tell,” Angela remarked wryly, her face softening a little. “But it’s not like you to drink this much, and this early. Something happened.”

There was silence for about half a minute as Moira tried unsuccessfully to work out what to say. With a sigh she finally broke the silence.

“Gabe. Soldier 24.”

Angela seemed to stiffen above her, and the calmness of her voice seemed forced.

“What about Gabe?”

Moira opened her eyes, looking up at Angela as if pleading to not make her say it, but Angela remained silent.

She pulled herself up to a sitting position, and looked away from Angela, bracing herself to admit to eavesdropping yet again, bracing herself for Angela’s response. For all she knew, Angela could respond by dropping all pretenses of caring about her.

“Yourr ffever got better, you wwere in yourr office.” Moira silently cursed herself for having this conversation in this state.

She looked back at Angela, expecting to see hostility and accusation in her eyes. She was surprised to see only a rekindled fear and sadness.

“I... I was in my office. I didn’t have a fever this morning. I was taking the day to finalize the proposal for Gabe.” Angela’s voice was so quiet Moira could barely make it out.

Moira couldn’t disguise the hurt in her voice. “Why? Why nnot tell mme?” 

Angela’s voice was pleading, and Moira thought she could see the beginnings of tears in her eyes.

“Moira, please don’t hate me for the first selfless thing I’ve done since coming to Overwatch. Please don’t hate me for trying to protect you, please.”

Tears were welling in Angela’s eyes. Moira opened her mouth to reply, but nothing came out. She was stunned. Angela took a deep breath and continued.

“People are going to find out about Gabe. Ana is going to notice that we did more than the standard modifications, and Jack probably will too. And everybody is going to blame you.” Tears were streaming down her face by this point, and her breaths were ragged. “But you’re not the person they think you are! You’re not! You’re good. And I love you. And I can’t let that happen. So I did it. And I made sure the notes showed it was only me. I can’t let everybody ruin your life again. I can’t.”

Moira couldn’t find words to say what she was feeling. It was a combination of relief, gratefulness, and heartbreak, heartbreak that Angela was planning on ending her own career in an effort to salvage hers. That was something that Moira couldn’t accept.

“Lett mme hellp you,” she begged, her voice as steady as she could manage. “I couldn’tt sstand working here wwithout yyou. Don’t ddo thiss to yourrself, please.”

She wanted to go on, talking about how Angela’s career was more important than her own, how her lost reputation could never be salvaged and Angela shouldn’t under any circumstances sacrifice her reputation in a vain effort to restore Moira’s, how Moira’s academic life was winding down while Angela’s was practically just beginning, but whatever she was going to say was interrupted by Angela suddenly pulling her tight against herself, her head resting on Moira’s chest.

After a little bit they laid down, still holding tightly to each other, neither one finding it necessary to speak. The details of the Soldier 24 file would be a topic for discussion tomorrow. For the time being, they just needed each other.

The last thing Moira heard before drifting off was a soft and tired “I love you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Gift of the Magi" but instead it's Moira sacrificing her good-person-ness in order to save Angela's position only to find that Angela was sacrificing her position to save Moira's good-person-ness


	9. Chapter 9

They were almost ready to begin, and Moira was apprehensive. She hadn't expected to be, honestly. She made a practice of never launching the final stage of a project until she was certain it wouldn't fail, and that had always worked out well for her in the past: her academic colleagues could say what they liked about whether Moira O'Deorain should have done certain things, but no one could say that she ever failed at what she set out to do. Feelings of apprehension were new to her.

But then again, they weren't completely unexpected. The final stages of Overwatch's genetic enhancement project, of the pilot run at least, carried more than just scientific weight. Try as she might to shove them aside, Angela's words about Gabe still rang in her head. It would be foolish to think that nobody would notice his vastly different post-enhancement traits. Sooner or later, somebody else would come along, ask questions, and arrive at conclusions that weren't likely to be good ones as far as Angela and herself were concerned.

Besides that whole matter, there was another that struck her even closer to her core. She didn't know what her relationship with Angela would look like when they were no longer working as project co-leads. Would they just drift apart? Moira didn't think that was likely. The alternative,  however, was almost as scary. So much about their lives would have to radically change in order to have a relationship away from this project, particularly if they didn't want to conceal it from everyone. Moira didn't know what to expect, and she hated that feeling. Would Angela break character? Would she find an excuse to leave Overwatch? Would she tacitly expect Moira to leave and find a job elsewhere? Would she go so far as to ask? Moira had gotten the sense that Angela herself didn't even know.

Moira shook free of the thoughts. She needed to get ready to go in to the lab. She had been staring vacantly at her own reflection for several minutes, toothbrush lightly clasped in one hand, listening to the sound of the tap water. Quickly finishing her morning routine, she got out the door just a few minutes behind her normal schedule. Maybe this would be the day she talked to Angela about what came next. Maybe.

 

It wasn't. Neither was the one after it, or the following day. Multiple times Moira almost raised the matter but something held her back. Whether it was the fear of their odd secret relationship ending or the worry that it's continuation would ruin one or both of their careers Moira didn't know. She just knew that she saw glimpses of fear and sadness in Angela's eyes and no time seemed like quite the right time to talk about it.

And suddenly it was time to start, and they still hadn't talked. Moira cursed herself for lacking the willpower to start an uncomfortable conversation, but another part of her reminded herself that Angela hadn't started the conversation either. If not talking was a failure, then they were at least failing together. That thought brought a wry smile to her face. If she had to fail at something, Moira could think of no better company than Angela.

In the meantime, Moira relished every minute that she spent with Angela, no matter how mundane. Days passed, and suddenly it was time to begin the clinical portion. This was it.

 

•

 

It was Saturday, two days before the first group of soldiers was to come in for enhancements. Angela had seemed more lost in her own thoughts than usual, and so Moira was expecting a quiet weekend alone. It's not that Angela wasn't still affectionate -- her smile was just as warm as ever, and so were her lips against Moira's -- but rather that she seemed to crave alone time more than usual.

The knock at the door of Moira's quarters was unexpected, as was the smiling figure of Angela she was greeted with upon opening the door, a figure who was holding a bottle of wine and what appeared to be a big bag of takeout. She grinned sheepishly at Moira as she entered and headed toward the kitchenette.

“I know this is unexpected, I hope you didn’t have any plans this evening.”

Moira’s smile broadened, no longer one of surprise but of happiness.

“I was planning on a quiet night in. I could do with more surprises like this one on my life.”

Moira always thought that Angela’s laugh was beautiful, but this evening she was drinking it in as if she might never hear it again, although she tried to not let herself think of that possibility.

“Well then I’ll have to come over unannounced more often,” Angela declared with a wink.

Moira laughed, and pulled a second chair over to her table while Angela removed the contents of the bag and spread them out on the kitchenette counter. She could get used to this.

As it turned out, chianti went better with spicy basil sauce than Moira had thought it would. The food was good (she’d have to keep one of the menus in her kitchen for future reference) and Angela had impeccable taste in under-ten-euro wine. At some point during dinner Moira’s non-dominant hand had found Angela’s and they ate mostly in silence, savoring each other’s presence.

Angela was two glasses of wine in and Moira was three when Angela spoke, her voice carrying a serious tone that was new to the dinner.

“I don’t know what’s going to happen when we’re done,” she said simply.

Moira looked down at the remaining food in front of her. “Neither do I.”

The room sunk back into silence. A tense silence, but not an uncomfortable one. It was finally Moira who broke the silence, still looking down, not meeting Angela’s eyes.

“After this,” a pause, and Moira braced herself before continuing, “do you want me to find another job? This might all be easier if I worked somewhere else.”

Angela’s grip on her hand tightened, and Moira could feel her eyes drilling into her skull, but still refused to make eye contact.

“Moira, I….”

Angela’s response was immediate, but her voice quickly trailed off. Moira knew that she wasn’t the only one whose mind had gone through all possible versions of the future. Moira knew that she had thought about it.

When Angela started again, her voice was more level. “Moira, you know I could never ask you to do that. And you know as well as I that that wouldn’t really solve anything.”

“I know.” Moira’s voice was soft and low. There was a long pause before she said the thing that she was afraid of above all else. “Do you want me to publicly disavow my previous work?”

“ _No._ ” The commanding note in Angela’s voice surprised them both. “Why would you even say that, Moira? You know what I think of your work, you’ve reshaped the bounds of the entire field.”

“I know.” The admission carried none of the bravado or ego that it might have in other circumstances. “But I’m not just a scientist. I’m a person. And until you came along I was a lonely and ostracized person.” Moira felt weak for even thinking this, but she couldn’t help it. She didn’t mind being professionally unpopular, but when that unpopularity swelled to such a level that she was personally demonized as well, it was a heavy load to bear. Would she distance herself from her past work if it meant that she and Angela could be together? Honestly she didn’t know. And that frightened her.

Angela moved her free hand to join her other in clasping Moira’s. “ Stop. I can only imagine how hard it’s been, but your work is brilliant, it’s the future. You cannot throw that away for me or for anybody. The Moira O’Deorain that I love is the exact same Moira O’Deorain who made those breakthroughs.”

Moira finally lifted her gaze to meet Angela’s. “I don’t know what we’re going to do.”

Now it was Angela’s turn to look down. “I don’t either. But we’ll make it through.”

  
•

 

The 100 soldiers who had been selected for the program would be scheduled to come in to the lab in groups of 5, primarily because that would allow for the best balance of speed and care. It wasn’t a particularly dangerous process (the many months of work leading up to this point had seen to that), but both Moira and Angela wanted to be able to keep a close eye on everybody’s progress.

The first several groups came in and out without incident. And after each one was cleared to leave the medical wing, Moira and Angela would share takeout and a bottle of wine. It became something of a tradition. At times the mood was more somber than others (particularly after Gabe’s group; neither Moira nor Angela enjoyed the wink and grin the commander gave as he was leaving), but nothing had gone wrong. It was always a celebration of another portion successfully finished.

Jack’s group was undergoing modification when an ashen-faced officer dashed into the lab. The two doctors had established a “no communicators” policy to avoid interruptions and, in Jack and Gabe’s case, to keep them from trying to run the whole organization from their lab beds. Stress and mental/emotional strain could wreak havoc on even the most sure medicine, and a temporary recusal from command responsibilities was one of the conditions for participation in the program. After much hassle, Angela had agreed that under extenuating circumstances command officers could receive briefings, but neither she nor Moira thought anything of it. Nothing major had been planned during the implementation phase, and things had seemed pretty quiet in the outside world. Needless to say, the way that the out-of-breath tactical operations officer had dashed into the lab could signal nothing good.

Jack would have been on his feet in an instant if Moira hadn’t happened to be right beside him and had the presence of mind to place a firm hand on his shoulder. He grumbled but remained in his half-seated, half-reclined position.

“Daniels. Report”

The officer, Captain Maya Daniels if Moira’s memory served, looked around and hesitated.

“You might want to hear this in private, sir.”

Angela and Moira traded an apprehensive glance, but Angela turned her attention back to Jack and nodded, gesturing towards the office adjacent to the lab. Jack stood with a curt nod, his face inscrutable.

The four other soldiers in Jack’s group seemed to share the doctors’ feelings of dread. Not only was there sufficient cause for Jack to be notified of whatever had happened, Captain Daniels had come down personally, in great haste, and had asked to talk to Jack alone. Something must be massively wrong. Moira couldn’t hear anything that was going on in the office, but she could see through the window that overlooked the lab. Captain Daniels was speaking earnestly, and Jack was looking at the floor. Seemingly without letting her finish, he sat down heavily on one of the chairs and reached for the desk phone. He spoke a few words into it before hanging it up and dropping his head into his hands. Agent Daniels seemed to notice the window for the first time, seeing the way that all eyes were on them, and close the blinds. Moira’s heart was pounding and her mind was racing but, try as she might, she couldn’t think of what could have possibly drawn that reaction out of the commander.

Only a few minutes had passed before Gabe all but flung open the door and walked straight for the office, not bothering to acknowledge anybody in the room beyond a curt nod in the doctors’ direction, his face stone. He disappeared into the office and the occupants of the lab were left to wonder what could be happening behind those blinds. Nobody spoke.

It was almost 15 minutes later that Captain Daniels emerged and motioned for Moira and Angela to come in.

Jack looked like he had aged 20 years in as many minutes, and, standing behind him, Gabe’s face was hard and emotionless. Jack nodded when the door had closed, and Captain Daniels spoke.

“Ana Amari is dead.”

Angela sunk to the chair opposite Jack, apparently unable to process what she had just heard. Moira’s head was spinning, but she was acutely aware that she didn’t have the relationship with Ana that Angela did. Not caring whether Jack saw or not, she sank to her knees, one hand on Angela’s back and the other grasping both of hers.

When Angela couldn’t seem to pull words together, Moira looked up and spoke for her.

“How? Do we have confirmation of death? Can anything be done?”

Jack shook his head. “Details are still coming in, but it was a clean shot to the head. And she fell from a height that would have killed anybody.” He sighed. “We didn’t recover her body. They got there before we did.”

Moira could feel Angela begin to shake and her breathing grow heavier, and she knew that she had to get her out of there.

She rose with a curt nod. “Thank you for telling us. I’m going to take Ziegler back to her quarters, this has obviously shaken her a great deal. You can trust our discretion.” She helped Angela to her feet before continuing. “Since there is nothing to be done now, I expect you” (she nodded toward Jack) “to not leave the lab. You can have visitors and full access to this office, but I’m not comfortable releasing you until everything has been finalized.”

He seemed for a second like he would argue, but he glanced from Moira to Angela and then back again and finally nodded. “Whatever you say.”

Moira stayed in Angela’s quarters that night, and held her as she cried.

 

There were no more nights of celebration. Neither of them felt like celebrating. Angela was devastated and Moira’s heart hurt for her. The remainder of the program implementation came and passed, something that temporarily lightened their spirits, but brought only a hollow feeling of accomplishment. Angela had seen death before, as a doctor, but never (never since she was orphaned at 3, at least) had she experienced the death of somebody that close to her. Angela’s focus never seemed to be focused towards Overwatch, and Moira had to remind her to eat. Every now and then a stray note on a piece of paper would stand out to Moira, and she’d see a glimpse of what Angela was thinking about. The resurrection of the dead. Moira mentally conceded that it might be possible, but shuddered to think at the effects that such a project would have on Angela’s career. If simple genetic rewriting had ruined hers, she could only imagine what the popular perception of an attempt to play god would do to Angela’s. But the younger doctor never brought it up, and so neither did Moira.

 

They were finishing the transfer of all materials from their shared lab back to either storage or their personal ones. Moira wryly laughed to herself as she opened a desk drawer — the one that everybody thought was locked but which only stuck badly — and saw the things that she and Angela had stashed in it. The office in the lab, for some reason, did not have a security camera, and the two had taken full advantage of that on nights when the lab was completely empty. Moira deftly pocketed the pair of padded handcuffs in the drawer and moved the other things — lubricant, condoms, some nylon rope, a dildo — into a box that she immediately taped shut. It wouldn’t do to let anybody else see them. Angela had apparently noticed, and let out a chuckle.

“It’ll be disappointing to not have regular access to this office anymore.”

Her voice was sad.

Moira opened her mouth to respond, but was interrupted by a deafening noise and what felt like an earthquake. Moments later, she was crawling through the mess of spilled boxes and fallen ceiling tiles towards Angela. The doctor seemed fine, if a little disoriented.

Neither of them asked the other what happened. They were in a military facility and, as untouchable as it might feel at times, the possibility that it could be attacked could never be completely discounted. Moira’s mind was reeling as she helped Angela to her feet. There was a weapons locker in the main lab, if the two of them could sprint there and lock the door. Their eyes met. They were thinking the same thing.

They had just passed through the office door and were heading to the door of the project lab when the door opened and Gabe calmly walked in, wearing a black sweater instead of his uniform and carrying a handgun that didn’t seem standard Overwatch issue. He jerked his head in a nod to them as if he were just seeing the two in a hallway after a briefing.

“Anybody else in here?”

The doctors exchanged a worried look.

“Just us,” Moira replied warily.

Gabe’s face split into a smile that neither woman liked the look of. “Excellent. I’m here to inform you of your reassignment.”

Now it was Angela’s turn to speak. “Gabe, what’s going on? What was the explosion?”

“Needed to tie up a few loose ends.”

“Is Ja—”

“Surprised you haven’t caught on yet, Ziegler. This place is coming down. The first explosion took Jack out, and there are more coming. I told my people to leave this wing intact, though. Just for now.”

The realization semed to sink in to both of them at the same time.

“It’s you.” Angela’s voice was cold, furious. “You’re collaborating. Is that why Ana died as soon as Jack was incapacitated? What else did you do when you were in command? How long have you been a fucking traitor?” Angela’s hand flew to a stack of lab kits stacked up on one of the tables, extricating a scalpel with the practiced ease of somebody who could perform surgery unassisted if necessary.

The smile fell from Gabe’s face as he lifted his weapon. “Don’t do that, Ziegler. You know you wouldn’t have a chance.” His gaze flitted to Moira. “Hold her so she doesn’t do anything stupid.”

Moira was already in motion, grabbing Angela’s wrist before she could do anything and stepping between the two, shielding the younger doctor with her body.

“What are you doing here, Gabe? Why come here?”

His mocking smile was back. “Ziegler was such a help with making this all possible” — he seemed to dematerialize in front of their eyes and solidify a few feet to the right — “that I wanted to see if she would come work for me on a more permanent basis. After all, who knows what she’s really like.”

Moira felt Angela wince in her arms.

“But I’m not going to kill either one of you, if that’s what you’re thinking. If one or both of you want to come with me, I have a dropship waiting. If not, I’m sure you know what will happen to you as soon as the UN finds out that you two secretly turned me into this.”

He turned to leave. “Landing pad C. It’ll be there for 15 minutes more. Make a decision.”

Angela and Moira looked at each other, the sound of the closing door ringing in their ears. Neither one knew what to say. It was an impossible decision. Go with Gabe to join whatever terrorist sect it was that he was evidently a part of, or stay and have their relationship, their secrets, at the middle of a UN investigation.

 

And yet suddenly,

Moira knew what she had to do.

 

She pulled Angela into a hug. Tears were welling up in her eyes, and she felt rather than heard the sob that wracked Angela’s body. A minute passed, and neither of them moved. Moira pulled back to look at the face of the woman she loved. She traced Angela’s jawline with her fingers, her chest swelling with the love and joy that the doctor had brought into her life. She would feel the pain later, but for that moment nothing in the world was wrong.

She leaned forward for a kiss as she smoothly slipped her hand into her pocket.

It was easy, just one smooth motion.

Moira felt Angela stiffen as all at the same time she heard the click and felt the handcuffs around her wrist. She pulled away, terror in her eyes.

“Moira, what are you doing, what’s happening?”

Tears were streaming down Moira’s face as she stepped back, grasping Angela’s free hand with both of hers.

“It’s going to be ok, Angela. I promise. I know you'd try to stop me but.... This is the only way this can go. This is how we get through this.” Sobs were threatening to wrack her body at this point, and she could only hope that Angela could see how sincere she was. “I won’t let you throw your life away. Tell them I did it. I’ll be seen leaving with Gabe, I just need you to tell everybody that I did it all, that I created whatever he is. You didn’t know anything about it. It was me. Please, Angela, please.”

Angela was pulling against the cuff around her left wrist, anchoring it to an operating table restraint.

“Moira don’t do this, please, don’t.” Tears were streaming down her face as her words grew  panicked.

Moira lifted Angela’s free hand and placed it against her cheek.

“I will always love you. Someday, somehow, I’ll come back and we’ll have a life together, a life that we couldn’t have now. But this,” Moira paused to press a kiss to the palm of Angela’s hand, “this is the only way to survive until then.”

Neither spoke for a few seconds. When Angela broke the silence, her voice was calmer but no less tearful.

“Promise me. Promise me you’ll come back. And, Moira,” her voice broke, and the sound almost broke Moira’s will, but not quite, “promise me you love me.”

Moira stepped closer to Angela and held her, for the last time in who knows how long. She feels Angela sob softly into her neck,and brings her hand up to hold the back of the doctor’s head.

“I promise,” she whispered into Angela’s ear, “I promise I’ll come back for you. I promise we’ll be together again. And I promise that I love you.”

With one final kiss, Moira stepped back, turned to pick up Angela’s incriminating “Soldier 24” notebook, and walked to the door, Angela’s parting words ringing in her ears.

“Stay safe. I love you.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not exactly a happy ending, I know, but at least one that offers an alternative interpretation of a devastating canonical event.
> 
> I'm sorry for the irregularity of my posting — grad school has been A Lot this past year, and I am endlessly thankful for everybody who reads and interacts with this. Thank you.


	10. Epilogue

Moira O'Deorain slammed the door to her office perhaps harder than somebody of her public stature should. She had spent her first year at the scientific quasi-city-state Oasis trying to suppress her annoyance, but her restraint was wearing thin, and she increasingly had little patience for decorum. And the meeting she just came from had used up all that patience.

 

_The Hon. Dr. Moira O'Deorain_

_Minister of Genetics_

 

She read the words on her desk placard with scorn. Once she had felt exhilaration upon seeing them as she entered her office, but now they felt like they were mocking her. She would have removed it from her desk if that wouldn't provoke questions about her commitment among her peers. She sighed, finally having crossed the seemingly mile-long trek from her door to her chair.

It wasn't that she didn't want to be there, God no. She had more freedom and easier access to funding than ever before -- nothing before had even compared. Overwatch had been all funding and no freedom, and Talon had been no better. She shook her head at the memory. Talon had set her up with a massive office and laboratory and immediately made it clear that they were to be used strictly for projects that would advance their interests. She had always assumed that omnics would function more logically and dispassionately than humans, but not even the omnic Talon board member Maximilien paid much heed to her indignant declarations that _that's not how science works_. She never thought that she would come to yearn for the freedom she had at Overwatch, at all places -- if not freedom from strict oversight, freedom to be a scientist and not just an arms manufacturer. Now at Oasis she had both freedom and funding, but was finding out the hard way the hassle that came along with holding her own purse strings.

 

_The Hon. Dr. Moira O'Deorain_

_Minister of Genetics_

 

She leaned forward to pick up the placard. Minister of Genetics. A mirthless chuckle escaped her. She had known coming into the job that it would be administrative, but she had severely underestimated that aspect. She was a glorified academic department chair -- no time for her own research because of the sheer demands of her office. Grant proposals, navigating institutional procedures, reviewing the projects of her subordinates, maintaining the reputation of her branch, collaborative outreach, the fledgling scientific journal that her predecessor had saddled her with, the annual genetics conference, and the list went on. Her job was all Minister and very little Genetics, and she was tired of it.

In a way, it gave her an even greater respect for Angela Ziegler's abilities than she had previously had. The doctor had been brilliant, regularly producing insightful work at a pace that a small team of other researchers would have been hard pressed to maintain. And she had done it while heading up Overwatch's medical research division. At the time, Moira had regarded the position's administrative duties as just a bother, but now, upon finding herself saddled with similar responsibilities, she had discovered that they were more like an inescapable expanse of quicksand.

She tossed the placard back onto her desk, where it landed with a dull thump. “You and me both,” she thought.

She had landed in Oasis with her own dull thump after years of working for Talon. She had risen from her original status as merely the Reaper's doctor to a position of some influence, but she had staunchly refused to lean into that influence. Attempts to include her in Talon council discussions were universally rebuffed with a cold “that matter is outside my scientific purview.” Eventually they stopped asking.

Moira was glad. They liked her more than she liked them. Maybe that was why they wanted her on the council -- she was far from ambitious outside the lab, and made no attempt to curry favor. They trusted her (as much as any of them trusted anybody, at least) because they knew she was neither a sycophant nor a rival. She was a scientist.

It was because of that quality that they had let her go. Nobody had before left the council alive (whether by an enemy's hand or by Talon's), but Moira was different from any of them. She left because they weren't allowing her to work. There was no conflict but the constant fight between what she expected of her science and what Talon did. And so when she notified them that she was looking for alternative employment arrangements, they accepted her offer to continue assisting the Reaper and let her go.

She arrived in Oasis because she didn't have anywhere else to go. While her role co-directing Overwatch's genetic enhancement project alongside Angela had certainly helped restore her name in the discipline, the project's conclusion had shattered that. During the UN inquiry following the explosions at Overwatch headquarters, the video clip of her alongside the Reaper sprinting to a Talon dropship played on the news constantly. And besides, a five-year gap in one's formal employment doesn't look good on a CV.

Oasis had been the only place that took her in. It cared more about academic prowess than any other mitigating factor, and they were practically falling over themselves to offer a position to the woman who had revolutionized the field of genetics. Well, most of them were, at any rate. When the Minister of Genetics protested the others’ insistence on her hiring, staunchly refusing to even consider her for any job openings that fell under him, the rest of the ministries responded by giving her his job. She was offered the position nearly as soon as she set foot in the city, and was immediately thrown into the thick of things.

And she hadn’t been able to fully devote herself to her work since.

This meeting had been no different. It was a city-related matter, a discussion of security logistics at the upcoming genetics conference, and it had taken a great deal of restraint to keep herself from giving her habitual answer. She reminded herself that she had accepted a position whose purview explicitly included this sort of thing. She was an administrator now, not just a scientist. She was obligated to participate in the civil side of the conference too, not just the scientific.

Sitting at her desk, she turned her attention to a folder that her secretary had dropped off on her desk while she had been away, a status report on conference registrations. Registration was up from the previous year, she noted, approvingly. Maybe geneticists were becoming more comfortable with her presence. Or maybe Oasis’ name just outweighed her own.

She absentmindedly glanced through the other things left on her desk for her review. A departmental report, a memo relating to a particular project that one of her best geneticists was heading up, an invitation to yet another formal event, and——

Moira sat bolt upright in her chair, every bit of her attention grabbed by the envelope at the bottom of the stack, the one initialed A.Z. She scrambled for her letter-opener. Everybody who knew she had one always at hand made fun of her for it — in this age of electronic communication, why would you bother having one of those old things? It was hard sometimes to justify it without admitting to a certain nostalgia for a time when personal communiques were tangible things to be held, and not just pixels or holographic projections. But in this moment, Moira felt vindicated. She wouldn’t dream of simply tearing this envelope. No, it was much too precious for that.

She remembered the worry that she felt weeks before when she had put a handwritten letter in a similar envelope. It had been years since she had last seen the addressee, and time can do horrible things to love. Besides, last she knew, Angela Ziegler was with _Médecins sans frontières,_ and Moira was acutely aware that Talon had created a few of the humanitarian crises that the organization had addressed over those years. But she had sent her letter, inviting Angela to Oasis, and now Angela had replied.

 

_Dearest Moira,_

_I’ve missed you. Just name a date and I’ll be there._

_All my love,_

_AZ_

 

Moira wasn’t sure whether two sentences and a closing had ever made her feel quite so warm inside. She reached for her own stationery, and suddenly everything felt right in the world.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for tampering with what should have been an already finished fic, but the idea for the epilogue simply wouldn't go away and I decided to give in. Happy Valentine's Day, y'all <3


End file.
